Blossom Street (Books 1-10)
The Shop on Blossom Street
A Good Yarn
Susannah’s Garden
Christmas in Seattle
Back on
Blossom Street
Twenty Wishes
Summer on
Blossom Street
Hannah’s List
A Turn in the Road
Thursdays at Eight
Debbie Macomber

www.mirabooks.co.uk

About the Author

When DEBBIE MACOMBER first decided to write a novel, people called her a hopeless dreamer. As a young, dyslexic mother of four active children, no one believed she had what it took to write a book, except Debbie. She wrote—for years. But each time she completed a story and mailed it off to a publisher, the manuscript was returned, stamped “rejected.” As tough as it was to keep her spirits alive, Debbie never gave up.

But all her perseverance paid off and Debbie’s heartwarming novels have made her a New York Times bestselling author with sales of over 51 million novels worldwide.

The Shop on Blossom Street

To Linda Johnson for sharing her love

of knitting with me.

To Laura Early for taking me under her wing.

And to Lisa, who touched my heart in her

desire for a child.

1
CHAPTER

“The yarn forms the stitches, the knitting forges the friendships, the craft links the generations.”

—Karen Alfke, “Unpattern” designer and knitting instructor

LYDIA HOFFMAN

The first time I saw the empty store on Blossom Street I thought of my father. It reminded me so much of the bicycle shop he had when I was a kid. Even the large display windows, shaded by a colorful striped awning, were the same. Outside my dad’s shop, there were flower boxes full of red blossoms—impatiens—that spilled over beneath the large windows. That was Mom’s contribution: impatiens in the spring and summer, chrysanthemums in the fall and shiny green mistletoe at Christmas. I plan to have flowers, too.

Dad’s business grew steadily and he moved into increasingly larger premises, but I always loved his first store best.

I must have astounded the rental agent who was showing me the property. She’d barely unlocked the front door when I announced, “I’ll take it.”

She turned to face me, her expression blank as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard me correctly. “Wouldn’t you like to see the place? You do realize there’s a small apartment above the shop that comes with it, don’t you?”

“Yes, you mentioned that earlier.” The apartment worked perfectly for me. My cat, Whiskers, and I were in need of a home.

“You would like to see the place before you sign the papers, wouldn’t you?” she persisted.

I smiled and nodded. But it wasn’t really necessary; instinctively I knew this was the ideal location for my yarn shop. And for me.

The one drawback was that this Seattle neighborhood was undergoing extensive renovations and, because of the construction mess, Blossom Street was closed at one end, with only local traffic allowed. The brick building across the street, which had once been a three-story bank, was being transformed into high-end condos. Several other buildings, including an old warehouse, were also in the process of becoming condos. The architect had somehow managed to maintain the traditional feel of the original places, and that delighted me. Construction would continue for months, but it did mean that my rent was reasonable, at least for now.

I knew the first six months would be difficult. They are for any small business. The constant construction might create more obstacles than there otherwise would have been; nevertheless, I loved the space. It was everything I wanted.

Early Friday morning, a week after viewing the property, I signed my name, Lydia Hoffman, to the two-year lease. I was handed the keys and a copy of the rental agreement. I moved into my new home that very day, as excited as I can remember being about anything. I felt as if I was just starting my life and in more ways than I care to count, I actually was.

I opened A Good Yarn on the last Tuesday in April. I felt a sense of pride and anticipation as I stood in the middle of my store, surveying the colors that surrounded me. I could only imagine what my sister would say when she learned I’d gone through with this. I hadn’t asked her advice because I already knew what Margaret’s response would be. She isn’t—to put it mildly—the encouraging type.

I’d found a carpenter who’d built some cubicles for me, three rows of them, painted a pristine white. Most of the yarn had arrived on Friday and I’d spent the weekend sorting it by weight and color and arranging it neatly in the cubicles. I’d bought a secondhand cash register, refinished the counter and set up racks of knitting supplies. I was ready for business.

This should have been a happy moment for me but instead, I found myself struggling to hold back tears. Dad would’ve been so pleased if he could have seen what I’d done. He’d been my support and my source of strength, my guiding light. I was so shocked when he died.

You see, I’d always assumed I would die before my father.

Most people find talk of death unsettling, but I’ve lived with the threat of it for so long, it doesn’t have that effect on me. The possibility of death has been my reality for the last fourteen years, and I’m as comfortable talking about it as I am the weather.

My first bout with cancer came the summer I turned sixteen. I’d gone to pick up my driver’s license that day in August. I’d successfully passed both the written and the driving tests. My mother let me drive from the licensing office to the optometrist. It was supposed to be a routine appointment—I was having my eyes examined before the start of my junior year of high school. I had big plans for the day. As soon as I got home from the eye doctor’s, Becky and I were going to drive to the beach. It would be the first time I’d taken the car out by myself, and I was looking forward to driving without my mom or dad or my older sister.

I recall being upset that Mom had scheduled the eye appointment right after my driving test. I’d been having some problems with headaches and dizzy spells, and Dad thought I might need reading glasses. The idea of showing up at Lincoln High School wearing glasses bothered me. A lot. I was hoping Mom and Dad would agree to let me wear contact lenses. As it turned out, impaired vision was the least of my worries.

The optometrist, who was a friend of my parents, seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time staring into the corner of my eye with this horribly bright light. He asked a lot of questions about my headaches. That was almost fifteen years ago, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face as he talked to my mother. He was so serious, so somber … so concerned.

“I want to make Lydia an appointment at the University of Washington. Immediately.”

My mother and I were both stunned. “All right,” my mother said, glancing from me to Dr. Reid and back again. “Is there a problem?”

He nodded. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. I think it would be best if Dr. Wilson had a look.”

Well, Dr. Wilson did more than look. He drilled into my skull and removed a malignant brain tumor. I say those words glibly now, but it wasn’t a quick or simple procedure. It meant weeks in the hospital and blinding, debilitating headaches. After the surgery, I went through chemotherapy, followed by a series of radiation treatments. There were days when even the dimmest of lights caused such pain it was all I could do not to scream in agony. Days when I measured each breath, struggling to hold on to life because, try as I might, I could feel it slipping away. Still, there were many mornings I woke up and wished I would die because I couldn’t bear another hour of this. Without my father I’m convinced I would have.

My head was completely shaved and then, once my hair started to grow back, it fell out again. I missed my entire junior year and when I was finally able to return to high school, nothing was the same. Everyone looked at me differently. I didn’t attend the Junior-Senior prom because no one asked me. Some girlfriends suggested I tag along with them, but out of false pride I refused. In retrospect it seems a trivial thing to worry about. I wish I’d gone.

The saddest part of this story is that just when I was beginning to believe I could have a normal life—just when I believed all those drugs, all that suffering had served a useful purpose—the tumor grew back.

I’ll never forget the day Dr. Wilson told us the cancer had returned. But it’s not the expression on his face that I remember. It’s the pain in my father’s eyes. He, above anyone, understood what I’d endured during the first bout of treatment. My mother doesn’t deal well with illness, and Dad was the one who’d held me together emotionally. He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, that would lessen this second ordeal for me. I was twenty-four at the time and still in college, trying to accumulate enough credits to graduate. I never did get that degree.

I’ve survived both bouts of cancer, and I’m definitely not the carefree girl I once was. I appreciate and treasure every single day because I know how precious life is. Most people assume I’m younger than thirty but they seem to find me more serious than other women my age. My experience with cancer means I don’t take anything, least of all life itself, for granted. I no longer greet each day with careless acceptance. But I’ve learned there are compensations for my suffering. I know I’d be a completely different person if not for the cancer. My dad claimed I achieved a certain calm wisdom, and I suppose I have. Yet in many ways I’m naive, especially when it comes to men and relationships.

Of all the compensations, the one I’m most grateful for is that while undergoing treatment I learned to knit.

I may have survived cancer twice, but unfortunately my father didn’t. My second tumor killed him. That’s what my sister Margaret believes. She’s never actually said so, but I know it’s what she thinks. The truth is, I suspect she’s probably right. It was a heart attack, but he aged so much after that second diagnosis I’m sure it affected his health. I knew that if he could’ve switched places with me, he would have done it gladly.

He was at my bedside as much as possible. That, in particular, is what Margaret can’t seem to forgive or forget—the time and devotion Dad gave me throughout this ordeal. Mom, too, as much as she was emotionally able.

Margaret was married and a mother of two before the second tumor was even discovered. Nevertheless, she seems to assume that she’s somehow been cheated because of my cancer. To this day, she acts as if being sick was my choice, an option I preferred over a normal life.

It goes without saying that my sister and I have a strained relationship. For Mom’s sake, especially now that Dad’s gone, I try my best with Margaret. She doesn’t make it easy. She can’t hide her resentment, no matter how many years it’s been.

Margaret was against my opening a yarn shop, but I sincerely doubt she would’ve encouraged me in any undertaking. I swear, her eyes brightened at the prospect of seeing me fail. According to the statistics, most new businesses do go under—usually within a year—but I still felt I had to give the yarn shop a chance.

I had the funds. The money was actually an inheritance I received from my maternal grandmother who died when I was twelve. Dad invested it wisely and I had a small nest egg. I should have probably saved it for what Mom calls a “rainy day,” but it’s been raining every day since I turned sixteen and I was tired of holding on to it. Deep down, I know Dad would approve.

As I said, I learned to knit while undergoing chemotherapy. Over the years I’ve become an accomplished knitter. Dad always joked that I had enough yarn to open my own store; recently I decided he was right.

I love to knit. There’s a comfort to it that I can’t entirely explain. The repetition of weaving the yarn around a needle and then forming a stitch creates a sense of purpose, of achievement, of progress. When your entire world is unraveling, you tend to crave order, and I found it in knitting. In fact, I’ve even read that knitting can lower stress more effectively than meditation. And I guess for me it was a better approach, because there was something tangible to show for it. Maybe because knitting gave me a sense of action, of doing something. I didn’t know what tomorrow held, but with a pair of needles in my hands and a ball of yarn in my lap, I was confident I could handle whatever lay ahead. Each stitch was an accomplishment. Some days all I could manage was a single row, but I had the satisfaction of that one small achievement. It made a difference to me. A very big difference.

Over the years I’ve taught a number of people how to knit. My first students were other cancer patients going through chemotherapy. We met at the Seattle Oncology Center, and before long, I had everyone, men included, knitting cotton washcloths. I think every doctor and nurse in that clinic has enough knit washcloths to last a lifetime! After washcloths, I had my band of beginning knitters move on to a small afghan. Certainly I’ve had some failures but far more successes. My patience was rewarded when others found the same serenity I did in knitting.

Now I have my own shop and I think the best way to get customers in the door is to offer knitting classes. I’d never sell enough yarn to stay in business if I ran classes in washcloths, so I’ve chosen a simple baby blanket to start with. The pattern’s by one of my favorite designers, Ann Norling, and uses the basic knit and purl stitches.

I don’t know what to expect of my new venture, but I’m hopeful. Hope to a person with cancer—or to a person who’s had cancer—is more potent than any drug. We live on it, live for it. It’s addictive to those of us who’ve learned to take one day at a time.

I was making a sign advertising my beginners’ class when the bell above the door chimed. My first customer had just walked in and I looked up with a smile on my face. The pounding excitement in my heart quickly died when I realized it was Margaret.

“Hi,” I said, doing my best to sound happy to see her. I didn’t want my sister showing up on my very first morning and attacking my confidence.

“Mom told me you’d decided to go ahead with this idea of yours.”

I didn’t respond.

Frowning, Margaret continued. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by and see the shop.”

I gestured with one arm and hated myself for asking. “What do you think?” I didn’t bother to mention that Blossom Street was decidedly out of her way.

“Why’d you name it A Good Yarn?”

I’d gone over dozens of shop names, some too cute by half, some plain and ordinary. I love the idea that “spinning a yarn” means telling a story, and sharing stories with people, listening to their experiences, is important to me. Another legacy of the clinic, I suppose. A Good Yarn seems like a warm and welcoming name. But I didn’t explain all that to Margaret. “I wanted my customers to know I sell quality yarn.”

Margaret shrugged as if she’d seen a dozen knitting shops with more impressive names than mine.

“Well,” I said, despite my determination not to ask again. “What do you think?”

Margaret glanced around a second time, although nothing had changed after her first inspection. “It’s better than I expected.”

I considered this high praise. “I don’t have a large inventory yet, but I’m hoping to build it up over the next year or so. Of course, not all the yarn I’ve ordered has arrived. And there’s more I’m planning to get, some wonderful imports from Ireland and Australia. Everything takes time and money.” In my enthusiasm I’d said more than I intended.

“Are you expecting Mom to help you?” The question was blunt.

I shook my head. “You don’t need to worry. I’m doing this entirely on my own.” So that was the reason for her unannounced visit. Margaret thought I was going to take advantage of our mother. I wouldn’t and the question offended me, but I bit back an angry retort.

Margaret glared at me as if she wasn’t sure I was telling the truth.

“I cashed in my Microsoft stock,” I confessed.

Margaret’s deep brown eyes, so much like my own, nearly doubled in horror at what I’d done. “You didn’t.”

What did my sister think? I had the necessary cash lying around in my bottom drawer? “I had to.” Given my medical history, no bank would grant me a loan. Although I’ve been cancer-free for four years now, I’m viewed as a risk in just about every area.

“It’s your money, I guess.” The way Margaret said it implied I’d made a terrible decision. “But I don’t think Dad would have approved.”

“He would’ve been the first one to encourage me.” I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re probably right,” Margaret said with the caustic edge that never failed to appear in our conversations. “Dad couldn’t deny you anything.”

“The money was my inheritance,” I pointed out. I suppose her share is still accruing profit.

My sister walked around the shop, eyeing it critically. Considering Margaret’s apparent dislike of me, I don’t know why my relationship with her is so important, but it is. Mom’s health is fragile and she hasn’t adjusted to life without Dad. Soon, I’m afraid, it’ll be only Margaret and me. The thought of not having any family at all terrifies me.

I’m so grateful not to know what the future holds. I once asked my father why God wouldn’t just let us know what tomorrow would bring. He said that not knowing the future is actually a gift because if we knew, we wouldn’t take responsibility for our own lives, our own happiness. As with so much else in life, my dad was right.

“What’s your business plan?” Margaret asked.

“I—I’m starting small.”

“What about customers?”

“I’ve paid for an ad in the Yellow Pages.” I didn’t mention that the new phone directory didn’t come out for another two months. No need to hand Margaret any ammunition. I’d distributed flyers in the neighborhood, too, but I didn’t know how effective that would be. I was counting on word of mouth to generate customer interest and, ultimately, sales. Which was something else I didn’t mention.

My older sister snickered. I’ve always hated that scoffing sound and had to grit my teeth in order to hide my reaction.

“I’m just getting ready to post a sign for my first knitting class.”

“Do you seriously think a handmade sign taped in the window is going to draw people into your store?” Margaret demanded. “Parking is a nightmare out there and even when the street’s open again, you can’t expect much traffic through this construction mess.”

“No, but—”

“I wish you well, but—”

“Do you?” I asked, cutting her off. My hands shook as I walked over to the display window and secured my notice for knitting classes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I turned to face my sister who, at five foot six, stood a good three inches taller than me. She outweighed me by about twenty pounds, too. Looking at us now, I wonder if anyone would guess we were related and yet when we were small we resembled each other quite a bit.

“I think you want me to fail,” I said honestly.

“That isn’t true! I came this morning because … because I’m interested in what you’re doing.” Her chin went up a notch as if she was daring me to challenge her again. “How old are you? Twenty-nine, thirty?”

“Thirty.”

“Isn’t it time you cut the apron strings?”

That was blatantly unfair. “I’m trying to do exactly that. I left Mom’s house and I moved into the apartment upstairs. I’ve started my own business, too, and I’d appreciate your support.”

She turned her hands over to display her palms. “Do you want me to buy yarn from you? Is that what you want? You know I don’t knit and have no desire to learn. I much prefer to crochet. And—”

“Just this once,” I said, cutting her off a second time, “couldn’t you think of one nice thing to say?” I waited, silently pleading with her to search inside her heart for at least a token word of encouragement.

My request seemed to be an overwhelming task for Margaret. She faltered for several seconds. “You have a good eye for color,” she finally said. She gestured toward the display of yarn I’d arranged on the table by the door.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping to sound gracious. I didn’t mention that I’d used a color wheel to create the display. Hard as it was for Margaret to offer me praise, I certainly wasn’t going to give her an opportunity to withdraw it.

Had we been closer, I would’ve told her the real reason I’d decided to open a yarn store. This shop was my affirmation of life. I was willing to invest everything I had to make it a success. Like the Viking conqueror who came ashore and burned his ships behind him, I had set my course. Succeed or go under.

As my father might say, I was taking responsibility for a future I couldn’t predict.

The bell above the door chimed again. I had a customer! My first real customer.

2
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

The angry exchange of words with her married son had distressed Jacqueline Donovan. She’d honestly tried to keep her negative feelings regarding her daughter-in-law to herself. But when Paul phoned to tell her Tammie Lee was five and a half months pregnant, Jacqueline had lost her temper and said things she shouldn’t have. Paul had hung up in mid-rant.

To complicate everything, her husband had phoned soon afterward, asking her to drop off blueprints at the construction site on Blossom Street. The argument with Paul weighing on her mind, she’d confessed what she’d said and now Reese was upset with her, too. Truth be told, she didn’t much care what her husband thought, but Paul, her only child—now, that was a different story.

Feeling anxious and depressed, Jacqueline drove down to the job site and wasted twenty minutes finding a parking space. Needless to say, the one she found was quite a distance down the street, across from a seedy-looking video store. Clutching the blueprints, she picked her way through the construction mess, muttering under her breath. Just leave it to Reese to screw up her entire day!

“You brought the drawings?” Her husband of thirty-three years walked out of the trailer to meet her as she neared the site. Jacqueline stepped over steel tubes, trying not to dirty or damage her Ferragamo heels. Her husband’s architectural firm, Donovan and Gray, was responsible for this renovation project. Dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit and a hard hat, Reese was still a good-looking man at fifty-nine.

Jacqueline handed him the all-important set of rolled-up prints. It was unusual for Reese to ask anything of her, which suited her perfectly. He set the prints inside the trailer and turned back to face her, standing just outside the door.

“I’m worried about Paul,” she said, doing her best to maintain her composure. Reese gave a tired shrug. He worked long hours and Jacqueline pretended to believe that all the time he spent away from home was business-related. She knew otherwise. So if he was tired, she certainly wasn’t going to sympathize.

For the sake of Paul and their friends, Jacqueline and Reese managed to put up a good front, but the marriage hadn’t been happy for a number of years. Reese had his life and she had hers. They hadn’t slept together since Paul left for college twelve years ago. In fact, there was very little they shared except their love for their son.

“So Tammie Lee is pregnant,” her husband said, ignoring her concern.

Jacqueline nodded. “Obviously Tammie Lee’s a breeder, just as I suspected.”

Reese frowned; he disapproved of her natural wariness toward Paul’s wife. But they knew practically nothing about her family. What little Jacqueline had unearthed, between the girl’s tales of aunts and uncles and God-only-knew how many cousins, had been disheartening to say the least.

The sound of a crane overhead distracted Reese momentarily and when he returned his attention to her he was frowning again. “You don’t seem happy about this.”

“Come on, Reese! How do you expect me to feel?”

“Like a woman who’s about to be a grandmother for the first time.”

Jacqueline crossed her arms. “Well, I for one am not thrilled.” Several of her nearest and dearest friends had delighted in their status as new grandmothers, but Jacqueline doubted she’d make this latest adjustment as smoothly as her friends.

“Jacquie, this is our grandchild.”

“I should’ve known better than to say anything to you,” she said angrily. Jacqueline wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if not for the argument with Paul. She’d always been close to her son. He was the reason she’d stayed in this empty shell of a marriage. Her son was everything she’d hoped for: handsome, smart, successful and so much more. He’d gone into banking and was quickly climbing up the corporate ladder—and then, a year ago, he’d done something completely out of character. He’d married the wrong woman.

“You haven’t given Tammie Lee a chance,” Reese insisted.

“That is blatantly unfair.” To Jacqueline’s horror, her voice shook with emotion. She’d given this awkward relationship with Tammie Lee her best effort. For the life of her, Jacqueline couldn’t understand why her sensible son would marry this stranger, this … this little girl from the swamps, when so many of her friends’ daughters were interested in him. Paul called Tammie Lee his southern belle, but all Jacqueline saw was a hillbilly. “I took her to lunch at the country club and I’ve never been so mortified in my life. I introduced her to Mary James, and the next thing I know, Tammie Lee’s discussing a recipe for pickled pigs’ feet or some such with the President of the Women’s Association.” It had taken Jacqueline weeks to gather up enough courage to face her friend again.

“Isn’t Mary in charge of the cookbook? It makes perfect sense that the two of them would—”

“The last thing I need is for you to criticize me, too,” Jacqueline blurted out. There was no point in trying to explain anything to Reese. They couldn’t even have a civil conversation anymore. Besides, this construction dust was ruining her makeup and the wind was playing havoc with her French twist. Reese didn’t care, though. Appearances were important, but he had no appreciation of everything she did to maintain herself physically. He didn’t have any idea how much work was involved in styling her hair and doing her makeup properly. She was in her midfifties now, and it took a subtle hand to hide age lines.

His voice rose slightly. “What exactly did you say to Paul?”

Jacqueline squared her shoulders in an attempt to preserve her dignity. “Just that I wished he’d waited a while before starting his family.”

Her husband offered her his hand to assist her into the construction trailer. “Come inside.”

Jacqueline ignored his gesture of help and stepped into the trailer. Although Reese routinely visited his work sites, this was the first time she’d been inside one of these trailers. She glanced around and took note of the blueprints, empty coffee cups and general disarray. The place resembled a pigpen.

“You’d better tell me everything.” Reese poured coffee and silently held out a cup. She declined with a shake of her head, afraid the cup hadn’t been washed in weeks.

“Why do you assume I said anything more than the fact that I was disappointed?” she asked.

“Because I know you.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Her throat was thickening but she refused to let him see how his rebuke had hurt her. “To make matters worse, Tammie Lee’s nearly six months along. Naturally Paul had a convenient excuse for keeping us out of the picture. He said they didn’t want to say anything until they could be sure the pregnancy was safe.”

“And you don’t believe him?” Reese crossed his arms and leaned next to the open door.

“Of course I don’t. People usually wait three months before they share their good news,” she said sarcastically, “but six? You and I both know he put off telling us because he knew how I’d feel. I’ve said from the first, and I’ll say it again, this marriage is a very big mistake.”

“Now, Jacquie …”

“What else am I to think? Paul goes off on a business trip to New Orleans and meets this girl in a bar.”

“They were both attending the same financial conference, and met for a drink later that evening.”

Why did Reese have to drag up unnecessary details? “They were together all of three days and the next thing I know he announces that he’s married to a girl neither of us has ever met.”

“Now I agree with you there,” Reese conceded. “I do wish Paul had told us, but it’s been almost a year.”

It still upset Jacqueline that her son hadn’t had a large church wedding the way she’d always envisioned. Jacqueline felt it was what Paul was entitled to—what she was entitled to. Instead she hadn’t even been invited to the wedding.

That wasn’t territory she particularly wanted to revisit. Her son’s only excuse was that he was in love, knew he wanted Tammie Lee with him for the rest of his life and couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer than necessary. That was the reason he’d given them, but Jacqueline had her suspicions. Paul must’ve known she wouldn’t be pleased—and he must have realized that his in-laws would be an embarrassment. She could only imagine the kind of wedding Tammie Lee’s family would hold. The reception dinner would probably consist of collard greens and grits, with deep-fried Hostess Twinkies instead of wedding cake.

“Tammie Lee got pregnant within six months of the wedding.” She didn’t hide her contempt.

“Paul’s over thirty, Jacqueline.” Reese had that disapproving look in his eyes. She’d always hated it.

“And old enough to know about birth control,” she snapped. Paul had sprung the news on her the same way he had the marriage: over the phone without a moment’s warning.

“He told me he wanted a family,” Reese murmured.

“Not this soon, I’ll bet,” she burst out. Talking to Reese was impossible. He didn’t seem to care that Paul had married beneath him. Her daughter-in-law was nothing like the woman she’d envisioned for their son. Jacqueline had honestly tried to welcome Tammie Lee into the family, but she couldn’t bear to be around her for more than a few minutes. All that sweetness and insincere southern charm simply overwhelmed her.

“But Paul’s pleased about the baby, isn’t he?”

Jacqueline leaned against the table and nodded. “He’s thrilled,” she muttered. “Or so he says …”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He … he doesn’t seem to think I’m going to make much of a grandmother.”

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him?”

“Oh, Reese,” she said, feeling terrible now. “I couldn’t help it. I told him I thought he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying Tammie Lee and that this pregnancy complicates everything.” She’d assumed that a year or two down the road, Paul would recognize his lapse in judgment and gracefully bow out of the marriage. A child made that a whole lot less likely.

“You didn’t actually say that to Paul, did you?” Reese sounded furious and that only made Jacqueline more defensive.

“I realize I should’ve kept quiet, but really, can you blame me? I’m just getting used to the fact that our only son eloped with a stranger and then he hits me with this pregnancy.”

“It should be happy news.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“It is to our son and Tammie Lee.”

“That’s another thing,” she cried. “Why is it every girl from the south has two names? Why can’t we call her Tammie without the Lee?”

“It’s her name, Jacqueline.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

Reese studied her as if he was really noticing her for the first time. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because I’m afraid of losing my son.” Paul and her close relationship with him was the only consolation she had in a life that brought her little joy. Now she’d done something stupid and insulted her son.

“Call him back and apologize.”

“I intend to,” she said.

“You could order flowers for Tammie Lee.”

“I will.” But the gesture would be for Paul’s sake, not his wife’s.

“Why not go to the flower shop on Blossom Street.”

Jacqueline nodded. “I plan to do something else, too.” She prayed it would be enough. She hoped her son realized she was making an effort to accept his wife.

“What?”

“I saw a sign in the window of that new knitting shop. I’m going to register for a knitting class. The sign says the beginning project is a baby blanket.”

Reese so rarely approved of anything she did that the warmth of his smile moved all the way through her.

“I might not like Tammie Lee, but I will be the best grandmother I can.” Someone had to provide the appropriate influences for Paul’s child. Otherwise her grandchild might grow up eating deep-fried pickles. Or going through life as Bubba Donovan …

3
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol Girard had never imagined that getting pregnant could be this difficult. Her mother obviously hadn’t had any trouble; Carol and her brother, Rick, were born two years apart.

Before they were married, Doug and Carol had talked about having a family one day. Because of her high-powered job with a national brokerage firm, he wanted to be sure she was as interested in a family as he was. Doug had asked if she’d be willing to put aside her career for a few years in order to have children. The answer had been an unqualified yes. Babies were a given with her. She’d always pictured herself as a mother, always saw kids as an important part of her life. Doug would be a wonderful father and she was deeply, passionately, in love with her husband. She wanted to have his children.

Heating her lunch in the microwave, Carol glanced around the kitchen of her sixteenth-floor condo overlooking Puget Sound. She’d quit her job only a month ago and she already felt restless and impatient. She’d left the brokerage firm with the sole intention of allowing her body to relax, to unwind from the demands of her routine. Doug had convinced her that job-related stress was the reason she hadn’t conceived, and her obstetrician conceded that it was possible. A barrage of humiliating tests for both her and Doug had revealed that in addition to her age, thirty-seven, she had to contend with something called ASA or antisperm antibodies.

The phone rang and she leapt on it, grabbing the handset before it had a chance to ring twice.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, eager to talk to anyone, even if it was a sales call.

“Hi, honey. I wondered if you were still at home.”

A momentary panic attacked her. “Am I supposed to be somewhere?”

Doug chuckled. “I thought you said you were going for a walk this afternoon.”

That was something recommended by one of the books they’d read. As a result, Carol had decided she should exercise more, and now that she was home during the day she had plenty of opportunity to spend time outside. This was all part of the program they’d discussed and agreed upon before she’d left her job.

“Right. I was just getting ready to head out.” She eyed the microwave and turned her back on her waiting lunch.

“Carol? Are you okay?”

Her husband recognized her mood, her depression and anxiety. Doug had been right to suggest she quit work. They were both frightened, since there was a very real possibility that she might never carry a pregnancy full-term. It didn’t help that they had one last shot with in vitro fertilization. The insurance company where Doug worked had its headquarters in Illinois, where state law mandated that company health coverage could pay for three attempts; their first two had failed. IVF was the very end of the technological line, the ultimate procedure the fertility clinic had to offer in the quest for a biological child. July would be their last attempt, and after that they were on their own financially. At the start they’d agreed to limit in vitro to the three attempts. If she wasn’t pregnant by then, they’d begin the adoption process. In retrospect, it had been a wise decision. The emotional devastation of the two failures proved she couldn’t endure this process indefinitely. Twice a fertilized egg had been implanted and twice she’d miscarried. No couple should repeatedly face this kind of heartache.

Carol and Doug never mentioned that this third IVF attempt was the end of their hopes, but the fact loomed in their minds. It was vitally important that she get pregnant—and stay pregnant—this time.

Carol was willing to give it everything she had. Willing to forsake the job she loved, willing to be poked and prodded and humiliated. She was willing to withstand all the doubts, confront the emotional highs and lows of their attempts at conception, all for the sake of a baby. Doug’s baby.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Although she said it flippantly, Carol did know. Doug had been with her through this entire process, through the doctors’ visits, the testing, through the tears, the frustration, the anger and the grief. “One day you’ll hold our child in your arms and we’ll both know that everything was worth it.” They’d already chosen the names. Cameron for a boy and Colleen for a girl. She could clearly see their child, could feel the baby in her arms, and see the joy in her husband’s eyes.

Carol held on to that dream, and the image of a baby in her arms helped her endure the most difficult aspects of the IVF process.

“What time will you be home?” It had never concerned her before, but now she regulated her life by her husband’s comings and goings. His routine shaped her own, and his return from the office was the highlight of her day. Several times each afternoon she checked her watch, calculating how many hours and then minutes until Doug was home.

“Usual time,” he promised.

Her husband of seven years worked as an insurance underwriter. Carol was the one who earned the big bucks in the family. It was her income that had enabled them to make a substantial down payment on the condo. When they got married, her wise and frugal husband had insisted they adjust their lifestyle to live on his income alone. He feared that otherwise they’d come to rely on her salary and defer having a family. They’d waited three years after marrying, not expecting problems, building up their savings. It was a good thing because even with insurance, the cost of infertility treatments was staggering. And now that she wasn’t working …

“Have I mentioned how dreadful daytime television is?” she asked.

“Turn off the TV and go for your walk.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied in military fashion.

Doug laughed. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

“No. It’s just that staying home isn’t anything like I thought.” Life at home wasn’t supposed to be endless hours of boredom, desperately searching for ways to amuse herself until Doug came home. She was used to frequent meetings, adrenaline-fuelled decisions, constant busyness. Being at home alone was a new experience and not one she enjoyed.

“Do you want me to check in with you later?”

“No, I’ll be fine. You’re right, I do need to get outside and it’s a lovely afternoon.” No place on earth was more beautiful than Seattle when the sun was shining. It was a perfect May day and she gazed out at the snow-topped Olympic Mountains in the distance, the blue-green waters of Puget Sound below her.

“See you around five-thirty,” Doug said.

“I’ll be here.” Before Carol had left the brokerage firm, it was Doug who’d arrived home first. Doug who started dinner. Doug who had the local news blaring from the television. Carol didn’t have any trouble adjusting to this role reversal of a role reversal. Right now, it was one of the few interesting things in her life.

She deposited her lunch in the refrigerator and grabbed an apple on her way out the door. They’d lived in the condo four years, and she still didn’t know her neighbors. They were upwardly mobile types just like her and Doug, with both husband and wife working long hours. Only a few had children and the little ones were rushed off to ultra-expensive day-care centers early in the morning.

Carol rode an empty elevator down to the condo foyer and headed out the double glass doors onto the downtown sidewalk. Munching on her apple as she walked swiftly toward the waterfront, she realized that one fear, at any rate, hadn’t come to pass.

All the women in the office had given her dire warnings when they learned she was leaving. The word was that stay-at-home wives and mothers battled constantly with their weight. Being in the kitchen and continually around food made it impossible to maintain a slim waistline, according to her former colleagues. That wasn’t a problem for Carol. Never in her life had she eaten more healthfully. Diet was all part of her new regime and she’d maintained her size 8 figure without difficulty.

A cool breeze blew off the water as she strolled along her usual route. Then on a whim she headed east, climbing toward Pill Hill, where Virginia Mason Hospital and Swedish Hospital were situated. She was breathing hard as she made it up the steep incline and continued slowly for several blocks, looking around at the unfamiliar neighborhood, until she came to Blossom Street.

A number of buildings were being renovated. The street was blocked off, but the sidewalk was accessible. The work on one side of the street seemed to be completed, with freshly painted storefronts and a green-and-white awning over the florist’s shop. Tulips and lilies were arranged in buckets outside the front door.

Despite the clang and racket of construction, Carol ventured down the street. A video store and a depressing brick apartment building sat at the far end of the block and a restaurant called Annie’s Café was across the street. The contrast between the old and the new was striking. The unrenovated portion of the street resembled a quaint small town with friendly merchants straight out of a 1960s television series. Granted, some of the buildings were a bit shabby, but they seemed welcoming nonetheless. It was hard to tell that Blossom Street was less than a mile from the heart of downtown Seattle with its high-rises and congested streets.

Next to the florist was another surprise: a yarn store. The shop was new, judging by the computer-lettered “Grand Opening” sign. A woman, probably close to her own age, sat in a rocking chair inside, her hands busy with a pair of needles. A large ball of lime-green yarn rested on her lap.

Because she had nothing better to do, Carol walked through the door, setting off a pleasant chime. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful and interested. She wasn’t sure what drew her into the shop, since she didn’t knit and had never been particularly keen on crafts.

The petite woman greeted her with a shy smile. “Hello and welcome to A Good Yarn.”

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

The proprietor nodded. “I opened yesterday, and you’re my first customer this afternoon.” She laughed softly. “First customer today,” she corrected.

“What are you knitting?” Carol asked, feeling slightly guilty because she wasn’t a customer at all.

“A sweater for my niece.” She reached for her project and held it up for Carol to examine.

The colors, lime-green, orange and turquoise, immediately brought a smile to Carol’s face. “That’s so cute.”

“Do you knit?”

The question was inevitable. “No, but I’d like to learn someday.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. I have a beginners’ class starting next Friday. If you register for the class you get a twenty-percent discount on your yarn purchases.”

“Sorry. I don’t think I’d be any good at knitting.” Carol felt genuinely regretful, but she wasn’t the sort of woman who was comfortable doing things with her hands. Calculating compound interest and figuring annuities, investments and mutual funds—that was where her skills lay.

“You won’t know if you don’t try. I’m Lydia, by the way.”

“Carol.” She offered her hand, and Lydia put down her knitting to clasp it warmly. Lydia was petite and small-boned, her dark hair worn short. Her brown eyes shone with intelligence, and Carol liked her right away.

“I’m starting the class with a simple project,” Lydia continued.

“It would have to be really simple if I were to take up knitting.”

“I thought I’d have everyone work on a baby blanket.”

Carol froze and tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She turned away before Lydia noticed. Under normal circumstances she wasn’t a volatile person, but with the hormone shots, her emotions seemed out of control. This was too weird, though, too much of a coincidence.

“Perhaps I will sign up for the class, after all,” she said, fingering a ball of bright yellow yarn.

“That would be wonderful.” Lydia walked over to the counter and brought out a clipboard.

These days, Carol looked everywhere for signs and portents, and she had frequent conversations with God. Without a doubt she knew she’d been sent to this shop. It was His way of letting her know He was about to answer her prayers. When she went in for the fertilization process this third and final time, she would be successful. In the not-too-distant future she was going to need a baby blanket for her child.

4
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix Townsend smashed her cigarette butt into the cracked concrete sidewalk with the toe of her knee-high black combat boots. The manager of Blossom Street Video frowned on employees smoking in the break room and rather than put up with his snide comments, she chose to smoke outside. The man was a prick, anyway, constantly complaining about the staff, the economy and life in general.

Lloyd Fund was right about one thing, though—all this construction was killing business. Alix figured it was only a matter of time before she got her RIF notice, followed by word that her apartment building had been sold. It was inevitable with all the changes taking place in the neighborhood. Either that or she was in for a big rent hike. Thanks a lot, Mr. Mayor.

She burrowed her hands in her black leather jacket and glared down the street at the dust and debris. She wore the leather coat rain or shine, summer or winter. This jacket had cost her big time, and she wasn’t taking it off so someone could conveniently walk away with it. Someone like her roommate, the overweight Laurel, although it was doubtful anything Alix owned would fit her. Leaning against the building, knee bent, one foot braced against the wall, she concentrated on the other side of the street.

All the storefronts were newly painted. The new florist shop had already opened, as well as a beauty parlor. Those were a real boon to the neighborhood—as if she had use for either one. The shop situated between them remained something of a mystery. A Good Yarn. Either it was a bookstore or a knitting shop. In this neighborhood neither would last long, she suspected. On closer inspection she decided it was a yarn store. The people who lived in her building weren’t exactly the type who got off on a ball of yarn.

A knitting shop did bring up an interesting prospect, though. With another five minutes left of her break, Alix crossed the street. She peered through the window and saw a handmade sign offering knitting classes. If she started knitting, it would get the court off her back. Maybe she could do something about those community-service hours Judge Roper had thrown at her.

“Hi,” Alix said, letting her voice boom when she walked in the front door. She liked making an entrance.

“Hello.”

The proprietor was a dainty woman, fragile-looking with large brown eyes and a ready smile.

“You own this shop?” Alix asked, giving the other woman a cool glance. She couldn’t be much older than Alix.

“This is my shop.” She rose from her rocking chair. “How can I help you?”

“I want to know about that knitting class.” Her case worker had once suggested knitting as a means of anger management. Maybe it would work. And if it allowed her to meet her community-service obligations at the same time …

“What can I tell you?”

Slowly Alix walked around the shop, her hands shoved inside her pockets. She’d bet this knitting lady didn’t get many customers like her. Recently a notice in the courthouse had caught Alix’s attention—all about homemade quilts and blankets for kids who’d suffered domestic violence. “You ever heard of the Linus Project?” she asked, thinking this yarn lady probably hadn’t stepped inside a courtroom in her lifetime.

“Of course.” The woman joined her hands and followed Alix as if she was afraid Alix might try to lift some yarn. “It’s a police-instigated project that involves knitting blankets for children who are the victims of violence.”

Alix shrugged it off as if it were merely a passing thought. “That’s what I heard.”

“I’m Lydia, by the way.”

“Alix, spelled A-L-I-X.” She hadn’t expected to get on a first-name basis with the woman, but that was all right.

“Hello, Alix, and welcome to A Good Yarn. Are you interested in knitting for the Linus Project?”

“Well …” Her thoughts on the subject had been pretty vague. “I might be if I knew how to knit,” she finally muttered.

“That’s what the classes are for.”

Alix gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m sure I wouldn’t be any good at knitting.”

“Would you like to learn? It isn’t difficult.”

She snorted, making an intentionally derisive sound. The truth was, Alix didn’t really know why she was here. Perhaps it was because of something from her childhood, some remembered moment or feeling. Her early years were blocked from her mind. Those court-appointed doctors had said she suffered from childhood amnesia. Whatever. Every now and then a fleeting memory flashed through her mind. Most of the time she didn’t know what had really happened and what hadn’t. What she did remember was that her parents had fought a great deal. An argument would break out and Alix would hide in her bedroom closet. With the door shut and her eyes closed, she managed to convince herself there was no yelling and no violence. In that closet she had another family, one from an imaginary world where mothers and fathers loved each other and didn’t scream or beat each other up. Her imaginary world had a real home where half the refrigerator wasn’t filled with beer and there were cookies and milk waiting for her when she got home from school. Through the years, fantasy had played as great a role in Alix’s memory as reality did. One thing she recalled in vivid detail was that this fantasy mother who loved her used to knit.

Alix escaped into that closet quite often as a kid….

“I have a beginners’ class starting next Friday afternoon if you’d like to join.”

The words shook her from her reverie. Alix grinned. “You honestly think you could teach someone like me to knit?”

“Of course I do,” Lydia returned without a pause. “I’ve taught lots of people and there are only two women signed up for the class, so I could give you plenty of attention.”

“I’m left-handed.”

“That’s not a problem.”

The lady must be desperate for a sale. Excuses were easy enough to supply and eventually Lydia would give up on her. As for learning to knit, she didn’t have money to blow on yarn.

“What about knitting a blanket for the Linus Project, like you mentioned?” Lydia asked.

Alix had walked right into that one.

Lydia kept on talking. “I’ve knit several blankets for the Linus Project myself,” she said.

“You have?” So this woman had a heart.

Lydia nodded. “There are only so many people to knit for, and it’s a worthy cause.”

People to knit for … The mother in the closet knit. She sang songs to Alix and smelled of lavender and flowers. Alix had wanted to be like that mother one day. However, the path she’d followed had led her in a different direction. Perhaps this knitting class was something she could—should—do.

“I guess I could try,” she said, jerking one shoulder. If Laurel found out about this, Alix would be the subject of a lot of jokes, but so what? She’d been ridiculed most of her life for one reason or another.

Lydia smiled warmly. “That’s wonderful.”

“If the blanket for the Linus Project doesn’t turn out, then it really doesn’t matter. It isn’t like anyone’ll know I was the one who knit it.”

Lydia’s smile slowly faded. “You’ll know, Alix, and that’s the important thing.”

“Yes, but … well, I’m thinking your class could serve a dual purpose.” That sounded good, Alix thought, pleased with herself. “I could learn to knit, and the time it takes me to finish the blanket will use up some of the hours I owe.”

“You owe someone hours?”

“Judge Roper gave me a hundred hours of community service for a bogus drug bust. I didn’t do it! I’m not stupid and he knows it.” Her hands involuntarily clenched. She still felt upset about that charge, because the marijuana had belonged to Laurel. “Doing drugs is stupid.” She paused, then blurted out, “My brother’s dead because of drugs. I’m not interested in giving up on life just yet.”

Lydia straightened. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You’d like to sign up for the knitting class and give the blanket to the Linus Project?”

“Yeah.”

“And the time it takes you to knit this blanket—” she hesitated briefly “—you want to use against your court-ordered community-service hours?”

Alix detected a bit of attitude on Lydia’s part, but when it came to attitude, she had plenty of her own to spare. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Lydia hesitated. “Not really, as long as you’re respectful to me and the other class members.”

“Sure. Fine.” Alix glanced down at her watch. “I’ve got to get back to work. If you need me for anything, I’m almost always at the video store.”

“Okay.” All of a sudden Lydia didn’t sound as confident as she had before.

The video store was busy when Alix returned, and she hurried behind the counter.

“What took you so long?” Laurel demanded. “Fund asked where you were and I told him you’d stepped into the ladies’ room.”

“Sorry, I went outside for a cigarette.” According to the labor laws, she was entitled to a fifteen-minute break.

“Did you meet any of the construction guys?”

Alix shook her head as she moved over to the cash register. “Not a one. Four o’clock, and those guys are out of here faster than Seabiscuit.”

“We got to get ourselves a union,” Laurel whispered.

“Benefits.” Alix knew she was back in that dream world again. One day she’d find a job that paid more than minimum wage. It would be nice to have an apartment all to herself and not share it with Laurel. Laurel lived on the edge and was in danger of slipping off entirely. Alix’s biggest fear was that when Laurel went, she’d take Alix with her.

5
CHAPTER

“If you can knit, purl and follow instructions, you can make anything.”

—Linda Johnson, Linda’s Knit ‘N’ Stitch, Silverdale, Washington

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I was afraid Margaret could be right and A Good Yarn would fail before it even had a chance to get off the ground. So far, only three women had signed up for the knitting class and Alix, the latest one to enroll, looked like a felon. I couldn’t imagine how Jacqueline and Carol would react to a classmate who sported a dog collar and wore her hair in purple-tinged spikes. I’d encouraged Alix to join, and then the moment she left the store I wondered if I’d done the right thing. What was I thinking? What was I thinking?

The construction noise wasn’t quite as disruptive now, which was a relief, but that hadn’t brought any more customers into the shop. On a positive note, I hadn’t had this much uninterrupted knitting time in months. I should’ve been counting my blessings, 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 tall, which was nice. I’m barely five foot three, and when I stand next to someone who’s six feet or taller, it’s intimidating. Brad was just right and that was the problem. I didn’t want to notice anything about him, about the boyish, charming way his dark hair fell over his forehead or how the dark-brown uniform stretched across his broad shoulders. But I did notice all those things … and more.

“What are you knitting?” he asked, gesturing down at my current project. He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Looks like socks.”

“They are.”

“But you’re only using two needles. When Grandma knit socks, she had maybe half a dozen.”

“These are circular needles. It’s a more modern method,” I explained, holding up the half-completed project for his inspection. He seemed interested and I continued chattering away, giving him far more information than he probably wanted. “Until only a few years ago, socks were knit using the five-needles method. But now it’s possible to knit them on two circular needles, or even one except that it’s forty inches long. Notice the yarn, too,” I blathered on. “I haven’t changed colors to make these stripes. The striped pattern is in the yarn itself.”

He touched the strand of yarn and seemed genuinely impressed. “Have you been knitting long?”

“For almost ten years.”

“You don’t look old enough to be out of high school, let alone open a yarn store.”

That was a comment I’ve heard far too often. I smiled in an offhand manner, but the truth is, I don’t consider it a compliment.

“I guess I’d better get back to work,” Brad said when I let the conversation drop. I wouldn’t have minded exchanging pleasantries for another few minutes, but I was sure he was on a schedule. So was I, in a manner of speaking. Besides, I never was much good at flirting.

“Before I go, can I help you put these boxes someplace? They’re heavier than they look.”

“I’ll manage, but thank you.” Distracted as I was by Brad’s friendly visit, I’d hardly noticed he was delivering new yarn. One of the delights of opening my own shop was being able to buy yarn at wholesale prices. Unsure of what would interest my clientele, I’d ordered a number of different varieties. My first order was for good solid wool in two dozen colors. Wool is a must, especially with the popularity of felting. That’s where the pattern is knit in a bigger size and then shrunk in hot water, which also mats the yarn, creating a consistency like felt. Next came the cotton yarns; they’re some of my favorites. The fingering weight yarns have become increasingly popular, too, as well as the imported European sock yarns. The yarns most in demand, I thought, would be the blends of wool and acrylic, so I’d ordered all the basic colors, as well as the colors that were, according to my knitting magazines, this year’s trends. Most of my shipments had arrived before I opened my doors but the smaller orders were dribbling in day by day.

“Do you live in the neighborhood?” Brad asked as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and reached for his empty cart.

“I have the apartment above the shop.”

“That’s good, because parking around here is a headache.”

As if I didn’t already know that. I wondered where he’d left his truck and supposed it must be quite a distance away. Any customers I was bound to attract would need to find parking a block or two down the street, and I worried that many people wouldn’t be willing to go to that trouble. The alleyway behind the store was open, but it wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to be caught alone, day or night.

“Thank you, Brad,” I said as he opened the door.

He gave a cheery wave and was gone. It seemed for a moment as if all the sunshine had left the room. I recognized that feeling for what it was: regret verging on misery. This wasn’t the time or the place, I told myself sternly. If I’m going to wallow in self-pity I want to make sure I’ve got an Eric Clapton CD playing and a sad movie or two in reserve. Ice cream is always a help, but only if it’s a really bad case.

There was nothing stopping me from getting involved in a relationship. Nothing except my own fears. Good grief, I’m thirty years old. Okay, here’s the truth. I don’t want to risk falling in love when in all likelihood the relationship will end. I’ve tried several times and as soon as I admit I’ve had cancer not once, but twice, I can see it in their eyes. I hate that look the most. The wary look that’s a mixture of pity and regret, of disappointment and sympathy.

Often the change in attitude is immediate, and I know it won’t be long before the relationship that once seemed so promising falls apart and dies. And with it my hopes for what women have always cherished—a husband and children. A family of my own.

I know I sound terribly sorry for myself. I’ll admit that I struggle with the subject of men and relationships. Even my girlfriends sometimes act uncomfortable around me. I do my best not to think about it. I have so much for which to be grateful, and for the sake of my sanity, I choose to concentrate on those things.

To put it simply, I don’t handle relationships well. That wasn’t always the case. BC (before cancer), I’d been popular and outgoing, with lots of friends, boys and girls. All the boys in my life eventually bailed. Actually I’d come to expect that, but I was the one who pushed my female friends away. It was foolish, I know, but I couldn’t stand to hear about all the fun they were having. In retrospect I realize I was jealous. I so desperately wanted to be like them, to laugh and stay up all night talking and confiding secrets. To go out on dates. Discover life. Instead, my daily routine consisted of doctors and hospitals and experimental drugs. I’ve never recaptured what cancer took away from me. The point is, I don’t have close friends, and now that I’m thirty, I’m afraid I’ve lost the knack for making them.

I shoved Brad Goetz out of my mind.

I’d just started to unpack the boxes and sort through my treasure of yarns when I saw a flash of brown uniform in my display window. Despite my earlier determination, I craned my neck, hoping for a glimpse of Brad. I wasn’t disappointed as he flung open the door and hurried inside.

“Lydia, are you doing anything after work tonight?”

To my utter astonishment, my mouth went dry. “Doing anything?” I repeated.

“I know it’s last-minute and all, but can I take you to dinner?”

Again I faltered, trapped between the yearning to leap at his invitation and the knowledge that, in the end, I’d be left with nothing but raw feelings and regrets.

“Sorry,” I said, hoping I conveyed just the right tone, “but I’ve got plans this evening.” I didn’t mention that it was finishing the gusset on the sock, but that was information he didn’t need.

“What about tomorrow? My ex has my son for the next two nights and I thought, you know, that we might get together and—”

Before I could give in to temptation, I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t.”

Brad’s smile faded. It probably wasn’t often that a woman turned him down. “See you around, then.”

“Yes,” I whispered as my fingers crushed a bright yellow ball of worsted yarn. “See you around.”

6
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Leaning back in her bubble-filled tub, Jacqueline glanced up from the latest best-selling murder mystery at the sound of the front door opening.

Reese didn’t generally arrive home on Tuesdays until long after she’d turned in for the night. For a while, his absence, followed by endless conjecture regarding his whereabouts, had profoundly distressed her. The subject of a mistress wasn’t one a wife discussed openly with her husband, so Jacqueline’s speculation had run rampant. Years ago, she’d accepted that her husband had another woman. More than one so-called friend had delighted in letting her know that Reese had been seen with some blonde. A careful inspection of their cancelled checks and credit card receipts had confirmed it.

A blonde. Men were so predictable.

Jacqueline had turned her head the other way and pretended all was right in her marriage and her life. That didn’t mean this blonde-on-the-side didn’t hurt. The pain of Reese’s betrayal cut deep, but Jacqueline was mature enough not to dwell on such unpleasantness. Lord knew her husband hadn’t come to her bed in years. As far as she was concerned, his mistress was welcome to him.

To be fair, separate bedrooms had been by mutual agreement. Early on in their marriage she’d produced the requisite offspring and following a respectable two-year span they’d tried for another child. But after two late miscarriages and the subsequent depressions, Jacqueline had given up hope.

All too soon Paul was no longer a boy. Almost overnight, it seemed, he was ready for college. When their son moved into a dorm room, Jacqueline had casually suggested Reese take advantage of the extra bedroom. The very next day, he’d moved his things into the other room. She’d been a little chagrined at the promptness of his action, but relieved, too.

Frankly she’d come to look upon sex as an intrusion. All that sweating and heaving and grinding while she did her best to pretend she was interested—it was just plain silly. Oh, the lovemaking had been pleasant and even enjoyable, especially in the beginning and then for a while after Paul. She was sure it would’ve been different if she’d been able to carry a second pregnancy to term. Jacqueline had wanted a daughter, but that was never to be. With the perspective of the last twenty years, she understood that her lack of interest in sex was due to anxiety or perhaps guilt. Still, it didn’t matter now. And she had no intention of visiting the doctors with couches in their offices to find out.

Not having a daughter was one of Jacqueline’s lifelong regrets. Reese had told her years ago, when she was feeling particularly depressed, that she’d have her daughter when Paul got married. And that was supposed to be a comfort!

Involuntarily, Jacqueline cringed. Tammie Lee was so far removed from what any daughter of hers would be that it wasn’t worth contemplating.

“Jacquie, are you home?” Reese shouted from the hallway leading to their respective bedrooms.

“I’m taking a bath,” she called back, setting the book aside. It was barely after seven; perhaps his interest in the other woman had waned. The scented water and bubbles sloshed as she stood up. On second thought, maybe something was wrong, but she couldn’t imagine what. She reached for a thick oversized towel from the heated rack. “Is everything all right?”

Reese knocked briefly on the bathroom door and, without waiting for her to respond, walked inside. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, breathless and rosy from the hot water, with a towel wrapped around her.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, flustered that he’d walked in on her practically nude. At one time, her body had been sleek and lovely, but the years had taken their toll. Her stomach sagged and her breasts were those of a woman in her fifties. She pulled the towel more securely about her.

“Are you kicking me out of the bathroom, too?”

“I’d appreciate my privacy.”

His eyes seemed to go cold for a moment before a blank look slid into place. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes when you’re available.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

Reese backed out of the room and closed the door.

As Jacqueline stepped out of the tub, she realized she was trembling. She rested one hand on the counter to steady herself, and drew in a deep, calming breath while she gathered her wits. She dried off, then slipped into her satin nightgown and matching robe. She cinched it tightly about her waist and paused in an effort to still her pounding heart before seeking out her husband.

Jacqueline found Reese in the kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator. He removed a take-out container she’d brought home from lunch two days earlier. She rarely cooked anymore, especially since Martha, their housekeeper, was more than willing to assume the task. Jacqueline had her own commitments and no longer bothered with meal preparation. Reese usually ate alone because he tended to stay late at the office. Or so he said.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he lifted the lid and examined what remained of her Caesar salad with shrimp. Apparently it didn’t suit him because he closed it again and stuck the container back in the refrigerator. “Do we have any eggs?”

“I think so,” she said, stepping between him and the refrigerator door. “Would you like me to make you an omelet?”

“Would you?” He acted surprised that she’d offered.

Irritated, Jacqueline took the egg carton from the door and grabbed a cube of Monterey Jack cheese.

“What are you doing home?” she asked. If she was going to cook for him, the least Reese could do was answer her questions.

He perched on the bar stool and watched as she chose a small frying pan and set it on the burner. “Do we have any mushrooms?”

“No. Now answer my question.”

Reese sighed laboriously.

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” she muttered and turned away. Rummaging in the vegetable bin, she located a useable green pepper, half an onion and a questionable-looking zucchini, which she deftly tossed in the garbage.

“You sent Paul and Tammie Lee a floral bouquet, didn’t you?”

“I told you I would,” she said irritably. She wasn’t accustomed to explaining her actions to her husband. Since when was she accountable to Reese? And she hated the way he’d been nagging her about their daughter-in-law.

“Did you hear from Paul?”

Jacqueline pinched her lips to hide her displeasure. “No, but Tammie Lee phoned to thank us for the roses,” she answered with bad grace. Actually Tammie Lee had gushed with appreciation and chattered on as if she’d never seen a dozen roses before.

“Is that all she said?”

“Should she have said more?” she snapped. Jacqueline resented this inquisition, and she wanted him to know it.

Reese glanced away. “I have no idea. You were the one who spoke to her.”

“She informed me that she’s thrilled about being pregnant. According to her, the pregnancy was a surprise.” Jacqueline could hardly wait to hear what her country-club friends said when they learned Tammie Lee was expecting. Everyone knew her feelings toward her daughter-in-law and her hope that Paul would recognize his mistake.

“I think she did it on purpose.” Jacqueline bristled just saying it. Tammie Lee knew exactly what she was doing. This baby was no more an accident than Pearl Harbor had been.

“It’s Paul’s life.”

“Do we need to keep having the same conversation?” The pan was hot and she cut off a small slice of butter and let it melt before tossing in the chopped vegetables. Taking her frustration out on the eggs, she cracked their shells against the side of the bowl and beat three eggs into a frothy foam.

“Did you sign up for the knitting class?”

Reese was certainly full of questions, and she concentrated on her task rather than respond. It didn’t escape her notice that he was close-mouthed about the details of his own life. She wondered how he’d feel if she started asking him questions. Like why he happened to be home at this time of night when he was supposed to be with his mistress. Or why he was suddenly so curious about what Jacqueline was doing. She decided not to answer.

Jacqueline half expected Reese to be angry at her lack of response. Instead he laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. I can’t imagine you with a pair of knitting needles.”

She decided to let that remark pass. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he’d annoyed her.

“You don’t look like any grandma I’ve ever seen—especially in the bathtub just now, all pink and pretty.”

Again Jacqueline let his comment slide. She poured the beaten eggs on the semi-cooked vegetables and added a heaping handful of grated cheese. With practiced ease she loosened the edges of omelet and flipped it over. When the eggs had cooked the way she knew Reese liked them, she slipped the omelet onto a plate and handed it to her husband.

Reese’s eyes lit up appreciatively.

“You never did say why you’re home this early.” He’d already refused to answer her once and she wondered if he would again.

“I was hungry,” he said simply and dug into the eggs and cheese.

Whatever had really happened, Reese obviously didn’t plan to tell her. She watched him a moment and then said, “I’m going to bed to read.”

Setting the dirty pan into the kitchen sink for Martha to wash in the morning, she left the kitchen.

Reese didn’t say anything until she was halfway out of the room. “Jacquie.”

“What is it?” she asked in a resigned tone.

“Thanks for making me dinner.”

She sighed audibly and slowly shook her head. “You’re welcome.” With that she walked into her bedroom. She took off the robe and sat on the edge of the queen-size bed piled high with decorative pillows, running her hand over the lacy cover. Turning aside the down comforter, she slid beneath the cool sheets and arranged her pillows so she could sit up and read.

In the distance she heard Reese rinse off his plate and put it in the dishwasher. Soon afterward the television in the den went on; just when she was about to complain, he lowered the volume.

Jacqueline read for about ten minutes—until tears unaccountably blurred her vision. She didn’t understand why she was crying. Leaning across the bed to the night-stand, she plucked a tissue from the decorative box.

It was because everything was happening at once, she decided. This untimely pregnancy, and then Paul and their angry exchange the day before, followed by Reese’s unexpected arrival tonight. Her life was a shambles. She’d be the laughingstock of her friends, she thought bitterly. Mrs. Donovan with her white-trash daughter-in-law. Her pregnant daughter-in-law, her love-struck fool of a son and her straying husband.

Still, she was determined to prove to Reese and Paul that she’d be a good grandmother if it killed her.

7
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol was in a hopeful mood as she prepared dinner on Thursday evening. Doug was due home any minute and she was full of news. Cutting a chicken breast into bite-size pieces, she poured soy sauce over the uncooked meat to marinate for his favorite stir-fry.

She smiled when the door opened and her husband entered the condo. “Hi, honey,” he said as he hung up his suit jacket, then joined her in the kitchen. Carol immediately turned into his arms and enthusiastically brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and involved, revealing her eagerness for lovemaking.

“To what do I owe this greeting?” Doug asked, leaning back far enough to take a slow, lingering look at her.

“I had a marvelous day.”

“Tell me what you did,” he said. He loosened his grip on her waist and began to examine the mail, which she’d placed on the kitchen table.

“After you left for work I went for another walk to that yarn store I found on Tuesday. Lydia said it wasn’t necessary until our class tomorrow, but I picked out the needles and yarn for the baby blanket. Just wait till I show you the picture! It’s so cute!” Carol rushed into the other room and produced a pattern and a ball of off-white yarn. “Isn’t this just perfect?”

Doug stared at the yarn as if he wondered how she could possibly get this excited over something so mundane.

“Don’t you see?” she said. “Doug, we’re going to have a baby! I feel so confident. This time everything will be different. Earlier in the week I was thinking I can’t endure this agony anymore. Everything’s been so hard. But all at once I have hope, real hope. Oh, Doug, Doug, we’re going to have a baby.”

She could see that some of her fervor was finally touching him. “A baby,” she repeated, her voice quavering with emotion. She reached for his free hand and pressed his palm against her flat stomach.

Doug’s gaze held hers, desire warming his eyes. He dropped the mail on the floor and wrapped her in his arms. Their kisses were passionate, luxurious. After several minutes of escalating excitement, he drew back slightly and caught her lower lip between his teeth. Familiar with her husband’s wants and needs, Carol slowly undulated her hips, stroking his arousal. She murmured words of encouragement, whispered lewd promises for him alone.

Doug moaned softly and kissed her again. “You know what you do to me when you talk like this.”

“I know what you do to me,” she countered.

He had her blouse unfastened and half off her shoulders when they stumbled into the living room. Arms entwined, they fell onto the sofa, giggling and eager now to finish what they’d started.

“We’ve been married too long for this kind of crazy sex,” Doug said as he jerked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Are you saying you want to wait until later?”

“No,” he growled.

Carol didn’t either. This spontaneity was in stark contrast to the scheduled lovemaking that had become their norm. What had once been impulsive and natural was now as routine, as prosaic, as a doctor’s appointment. Their focus was on timing, on the effort to match her ovulation cycle, their purpose to achieve conception. Now, for the first time in years, their lovemaking was liberated—and liberating. Once he’d dispensed with his suit pants and Carol her slacks, she lay back on the sofa and stretched out her arms to welcome her husband.

Doug lowered himself onto her and Carol closed her eyes at the exquisite sensation as his body linked with hers. This was the way lovemaking was supposed to be. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to feel this urgency. Their purpose was love and hope, and they were drunk on their need for each other.

With Carol’s arms around Doug’s neck, her fingers delved into his dark hair. She whimpered and arched to meet each thrust and gave herself over to the warmth and the joy of their lovemaking.

They held each other for a long time afterward, savoring each moment. Neither spoke, afraid, she guessed, to disrupt the peace of this joining of bodies and souls. Their coupling was an affirmation of their deep-rooted love, of their commitment and their unwavering belief that one day they would be parents. Carol was sure. She’d been convinced of it the day she’d walked into the yarn store and learned the project for the beginners’ class was a baby blanket. It was a sign.

After a while, Doug lifted his head and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

Sated and content, she smiled up at her husband. “I love you, too. I think little Cameron’s going to be very happy with his daddy.”

“Little Colleen, you mean.”

“We could have twins, you know.”

“Good, the more the merrier.”

They continued to gaze at each other until it was too uncomfortable to remain in the same position. After dressing and straightening her blouse, Carol picked up the yarn. Just holding it brought her comfort. She’d knit this baby blanket and with each stitch, each row, her unborn child would feel her love.

The phone rang after dinner while Carol was putting their plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. Doug sat in front of the television, half listening to the news and reading the paper. He lowered the sports pages and saw that Carol had answered the phone in the kitchen.

Caller ID told Carol it was her brother, Rick, a pilot for Alaska Airlines, calling from his cell phone. He was based in Juneau, Alaska, where his ex-wife, Ellie, lived, too. Rick’s schedule often brought him to Seattle, but he rarely had time to see her.

“Hello, big brother,” Carol said, her happiness evident in her voice.

“Carol, you sound wonderful. Are you …?” He hesitated, but Carol knew what he was asking.

“Not yet. Doug and I are working on it, though—all hours of the day and night.” She tossed her husband a saucy look, but he was reading his paper and didn’t notice. “How long are you in town?”

“Tonight and tomorrow this time around. I fly out in the late afternoon. Any chance we can get together? Not necessarily this trip, if that doesn’t work for you, but soon.”

Carol immediately checked the calendar. “I’d love to.” His invitations were few and far between, and she’d make whatever adjustments were necessary to accommodate her brother. “What about breakfast?”

“You know I’m not much of a morning person.”

Carol did remember the trouble her brother had always had getting up for school. “That’s true,” she said.

“What are you doing these days?” he asked conversationally.

“Not much. Doug and I go to the gym three mornings a week and tomorrow afternoon I’m starting a knitting class.”

“Knitting? You?”

“Yes, and if you treat me right, once I learn I’ll knit you a sweater.”

“One of those Irish ones with all the intricate cables?”

“Ah … I was thinking more along the lines of a simple cardigan with raglan sleeves.”

Her brother chuckled. “I can’t imagine my sister, who managed two-hundred-million dollars’ worth of mutual funds, with a pair of knitting needles in her hands.”

“Well, imagine it, because it’s happening.” She wondered whether he had something on his mind. “Any particular reason you want to see me?”

Rick didn’t answer right away. “It’s been a while since we talked,” he said. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to catch up. That’s all.”

“That would be great. It doesn’t sound as if tomorrow’s going to work out. When are you in town next?” She heard pages flipping in the background as Rick checked his work schedule. “Why don’t you come here for dinner?” she suggested.

“I’ll be back next week. Does that suit you and Doug?” He gave her the date and Carol wrote it on the wall calendar. With the pencil still in her hand, she paused. While it wasn’t unusual for her brother to call, he didn’t often pursue the issue of their getting together.

“Is everything okay, Rick?” He’d been divorced for more than a year now and although he spoke about it matter-of-factly, even dismissively, Carol suspected the breakup had caused him a lot of pain. She didn’t know the exact reasons Ellie had filed for divorce, but Carol figured it had to do with Rick’s career. It couldn’t be easy to maintain a relationship with a husband who was away from home so much. At one time Ellie had hinted he was unfaithful, but Carol refused to believe it. Her brother wouldn’t cheat on his wife. He just wouldn’t.

“Well … sort of okay, but I don’t want to go into it now. There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he added, clearing his throat. “We’ll have dinner next week and talk then.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Carol told him. “Have you seen Mom and Dad lately?” she asked.

“I was in Portland last weekend and they’re fit as ever.”

“Great.”

Carol and her brother made polite conversation for a few more minutes. She frowned as she replaced the receiver, curious about Rick’s problem, whatever it was.

“That was Rick?” Doug asked from the living room.

“We’re having dinner with him next week.”

“We haven’t seen him in a while, have we?”

Carol wandered into the other room and sat on the arm of Doug’s chair.

He glanced up at her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I wish I knew, but something’s going on with my brother.” Resting her arm along the back of the chair, Carol leaned down and kissed the top of Doug’s head. “Promise you’ll always love me,” she whispered.

“I already did,” he said and raised his left hand to show her his wedding ring. “I’m yours, whether you want me or not.”

Carol relaxed against her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do at this moment.”

“Those are words a husband likes to hear,” he said, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling Carol into his lap. She nestled in his arms, grateful to her brother who’d introduced her to Doug, and to her husband for his love. Still, Rick’s call bothered her and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. He might tell her not to worry, but how could she help it?

8
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix regretted signing up for the knitting class, but it was too late now. As soon as she’d received her weekly paycheck, she’d returned to A Good Yarn and paid for the class. She’d acted impulsively; it was stupid to throw away good money on a useless knitting class. The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she felt. She’d gotten suckered by some childhood fantasy of the perfect mother. Well, Alix had a mother and she was far from perfect.

“John’s here,” Laurel whispered, stepping up behind Alix at the counter. Her roommate had been seeing one of their regular patrons for about six months now, but as far as Alix was concerned, the guy was a sleaze. He might be good-looking and wear suits, but she saw what kind of movies he rented and they all began with X. His favorites were the kinkiest of the lot.

Early on, John had let Alix know he was interested in her, but she didn’t encourage him. Laurel, however, had been keen on him from the first and seemed to think the world revolved around him. Laurel was welcome to John Murray, used-car salesman, but Alix wanted to tell her friend she could do better. The problem, Alix suspected, was Laurel’s weight. Because she weighed well over two hundred pounds, Laurel seemed to believe no guy would want to be with her. It didn’t help that she wore her thin, stringy blond hair long and straight and didn’t wash it often. Her entire wardrobe consisted of jeans, T-shirts—most of them with either dumb or offensive slogans—and the occasional blouse. All of Alix’s efforts to get her into leather and black pants had failed. Still, no matter how much she weighed or how she dressed, Laurel deserved better treatment than John gave her.

Even if John had been a different kind of guy, Alix wouldn’t have been interested. She had her eye on someone else. She’d made a point of being at the counter when he came in recently and learned his name was Jordan Turner. In the looks department, he wasn’t anything special. Just a regular guy, clean-cut but with a nice smile and warm brown eyes. His rental history told her he didn’t go for kinky stuff the way Laurel’s sick puppy did. Jordan didn’t watch over-the-top violent movies, either. His last visit, he’d checked out True Lies and Dumb and Dumber, pretty tame compared to what Lover Boy chose. She’d once known a guy named Jordan Turner, but that was in sixth grade. She’d really liked him. His dad was a minister and she’d gone to church a few times because Jordan had asked her to. So, in a way, her first “date” had been at a church. Now, that was a laugh!

“Cover for me,” Laurel said from behind her.

“Laurel,” Alix protested, biting off a warning. She hated this because she knew exactly what happened when Laurel and John slipped inside the back office and locked the door.

John watched his sicko sex videos, then returned to the video store all hot and bothered and gave Laurel ten minutes of his time. He left full of promises to take her out, which he had on rare occasions, paying her just enough attention to keep her dangling. The guy was a loser, but if Laurel didn’t see that, she wasn’t going to listen to anything Alix had to say.

“I won’t be long,” her friend promised, giggling as she hurried toward the back of the store, leading John by the hand.

At least it wasn’t busy. By nine in the evening, most people who were going to rent movies had already done so. There were only four or five customers browsing among the shelves.

Involved in her thoughts, Alix was surprised when she glanced up to find the very guy who’d been on her mind. Jordan Turner was standing at the counter.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Caught off guard, Alix needed a moment to control her reaction. She shrugged, then asked in as casual a voice as she could manage, “Can I help you?”

“Would you please check to see if The Matrix is available?”

“Yeah, sure.” Alix turned to the computer keyboard and typed in the movie title. Although no one would guess—she hoped—her heart was hammering wildly. She hadn’t expected Jordan on a Thursday night. He almost always came in on Tuesdays.

“I looked on the shelf, but there doesn’t seem to be a copy.”

“They’re all rented,” Alix told him, staring at the computer screen. “Would you like me to recommend another movie along the same lines?”

He considered her offer, then shook his head. “No, thanks.” He put Catch Me If You Can on the counter and paid for the rental. Before she could think of anything to delay him, he was gone.

Laurel reappeared at the counter, John in tow. She had a hickey on her neck and her blouse was misbuttoned. Alix glared at John who glared back, and whispered something to Laurel. Alix couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could guess. Laurel shook her head adamantly.

John was out of the store a minute later but not soon enough to suit Alix.

“I’m meeting him after work,” Laurel informed her in a righteous tone. “He’s taking me to dinner.” Her eyes challenged Alix to say anything negative about John now, but Alix wasn’t taking the bait.

“He certainly seems to be in a good mood,” she muttered sarcastically.

“He is,” Laurel said. “He sold a car today and we’re going out to celebrate.”

“You might want to fix your blouse before you leave the store.”

“Oh,” Laurel said, looking down. Her fingers immediately went to work righting the last three buttons.

“Thanks.”

Alix shook her head, and lifted a tray of videos to return to the shelf.

“I probably won’t come back to the apartment tonight,” Laurel said, “so don’t wait up for me.”

As if Alix would. “I’m not your mother. Don’t worry about it.”

“My mother wouldn’t care anyway. She dumped me with my uncle when I was ten. My nasty uncle, if that tells you anything.”

Laurel’s home life hadn’t been any better than Alix’s. They’d met a year earlier when they were both living day to day, mostly in hotel rooms, and not the kind that came with small bottles of shampoo, either. When you’re pulling down minimum wage, you can’t afford first and last month’s rent. It’d taken Laurel and Alix six months to get into their current place. You’d have thought they’d moved into a castle when they found the apartment. Between them they could manage the rent, but with all the neighborhood renovation, Alix was afraid they’d soon be out on the street. Rumor had it the apartment complex had been sold to the same company that bought the old bank.

The apartment was a dump, with sagging floors, a permanently stained bathtub and cracks in the ceiling. But it was the first home Alix had ever considered truly hers. All the furniture was stuff even Goodwill wouldn’t take. She and Laurel had collected it piece by piece over the past few months, through word of mouth and a couple of times right off the street.

Neither girl was in contact with her parents. The last Alix had heard, her dad was living somewhere in California but she hadn’t seen him in ten years and frankly she didn’t feel she was missing much. He hadn’t made any effort to find her and she had no desire to seek him out. Her mother was doing time for forging checks. No one knew that, other than Laurel, whom she’d told in a moment of weakness. Alix had sent her mother several letters but when she wrote back, all she wanted was for Alix to send her money—or even worse, get her stuff she shouldn’t be asking for.

Alix’s only other family was her older brother, but Tom had gotten mixed up with a rough crowd and ended up dead of a drug overdose five years ago. His death had hit her hard. It still did. Tom was all she’d had and then he’d gone and … given up. When she first heard, she’d been angry, so angry that she’d wanted to kill him for doing this to her. The next thing she knew, she was huddled on the floor, wishing she was eight years old again and could hide in a closet and pretend her world was safe and secure.

Without Tom, she’d faltered, become reckless and got into trouble. It took her a while to find her way, but she had. These days Alix was determined not to make the same mistakes her brother had. She’d looked after herself from the age of sixteen. In her own opinion, she’d done a fairly good job of staying sober and sane. Sure, she’d butted heads with the boys in blue a few times and been assigned a social worker, but she was proud that she’d stayed out of serious trouble—and off welfare.

“You got a call this afternoon,” Laurel informed her just before closing. “I meant to tell you but it slipped my mind.”

They could afford an apartment but not a phone, so all contacts were made at the video store, which annoyed the manager. “Who’d be calling me?”

“Someone named Ms. O’Dell.”

The social worker had started coming around after the bogus drug bust. Alix had been caught with Laurel’s stash of marijuana. She still hadn’t forgiven Laurel for wasting money on it in the first place and, even worse, hiding it in Alix’s purse. She wasn’t the one using, but no one was willing to listen to her protests of innocence, so she’d shut up and accepted the black mark against her record.

“What did she want?” Alix asked, although Mrs. O’Dell was actually returning her call. Before Alix invested all that time, energy and money in knitting the baby blanket, she wanted to be sure the effort would count toward her community-service hours.

“She said it was fine and it might help you with anger management, whatever that means.”

“Oh.” At least the woman hadn’t actually mentioned the knitting class, which saved Alix from having to tell Laurel what she’d done.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Alix narrowed her lips. “No.”

“We’re roommates, Alix. You can trust me.”

“Sure I can,” she snarled. “Just like I could trust you to tell the truth to the cops.” She wasn’t letting Laurel forget that she’d taken the fall for her.

“All right,” Laurel snapped and held up both hands. “Have it your way.”

That was exactly what Alix intended.

9
CHAPTER

“We are all knitted together. Knitting keeps me connected to all the women who have made my life so rich.”

—Ann Norling, designer LYDIA HOFFMAN

Although I’d taught knitting for a number of years, I’d never worked with such an eclectic group as the women in my small beginners’ class. They had absolutely nothing in common. The three of them sat stiffly at the table in the back of the store, not exchanging a word.

“Perhaps we should begin by introducing ourselves. Explain why you decided to join this class,” I said and motioned for Jacqueline to start. She was the one I worried about the most. Jacqueline was clearly part of the country-club set, and her initial reaction to Alix had been poorly disguised shock. From the look she cast me, I was afraid she was ready to make an excuse and bolt for the door. I’m not sure what prompted her to stay, but I’m grateful she did.

“Hello,” Jacqueline said in a well-modulated voice, nodding at the other two women who sat across from her. “My name is Jacqueline Donovan. My husband’s architectural firm is responsible for the Blossom Street renovation. I wanted to learn how to knit because I’m about to become a grandmother for the first time.”

Immediately Alix jerked her head up and stared at the older woman. “Your husband’s the one behind this whole mess? You tell him to keep his hands off my apartment, understand?”

“How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!”

The two women glared at one another. Alix was halfway out of her chair, and I had to admire Jacqueline, who didn’t so much as flinch. I quickly turned to Carol. “Would you mind going next?” I asked and my voice must have betrayed my nervousness.

I’d come to know Carol a little; she’d been in the shop twice already and had bought yarn. I knew why she’d joined the class and hoped we could be friends.

“Yes, hi,” Carol said, sounding as unsettled as I felt.

Alix continued to glare at Jacqueline but the older woman did a masterful job of ignoring her. I should have known something like this would happen, but felt powerless to stop it. Alix and Jacqueline were about as different as any two women could be.

“My name is Carol Girard and my husband and I are hoping for a child. I’m currently undergoing fertility treatments. I’m having an IVF attempt in July. The reason I’m in this class is that I want to knit a blanket for my yet-to-be-conceived baby.”

I could see from Alix’s face that she didn’t understand the term.

“IVF refers to in vitro fertilization,” Carol explained.

“I read a wonderful article about that in a recent issue of Newsweek magazine,” Jacqueline said. “It’s amazing what doctors can do these days.”

“Yes, there are quite a few miracle drugs available now, but thus far Doug and I haven’t received our miracle.”

The look of longing on Carol’s face was so intense, I yearned to put my hand on her shoulder.

“July is our last chance at the IVF process,” she added. Carol bit down on her lower lip and I wondered if she knew how much of her anxiety she revealed.

“What do they do to you with this in vitro stuff?” Alix asked, leaning forward. She seemed genuinely interested.

“It’s a rather long, drawn-out process,” Carol said. “I’m not sure you want me to take class time to go though it all.”

“Would you mind?” Alix asked, surprising me with her curiosity.

“By all means,” Jacqueline chimed in, but I doubted that her interest was as sincere as Alix’s seemed to be.

“Well,” Carol said, clasping her hands on the table, “it all starts with drugs.”

“Doesn’t everything?” Alix laughed at her own joke, but no one else joined in.

“I was on this drug that stimulates the ovaries to produce eggs, and once the eggs appeared, they had to be harvested.”

“Did it hurt?” Jacqueline asked.

“Only slightly, but all I had to do was think about a baby, and any discomfort was worth it. We both want to be parents so badly.”

That much was obvious, and from what I’d seen of Carol I was sure she’d be a wonderful mother.

“After the doctor collected Doug’s sperm, my eggs were inseminated to create a number of embryo cultures. These are then transferred to my uterus. We’ve had two attempts that didn’t succeed, and the insurance company will only pay for three and, well, it’s just very important that I get pregnant this time.”

“It seems to me you’re putting lots of stress on yourself,” Alix said in what I found to be an insightful comment.

“How nerve-racking for you both,” Jacqueline murmured.

“I feel so confident, though.” Carol positively beamed with it. “I’m not sure why, but for the first time in months I feel really good about all of this. We decided to wait after our last attempt. Mostly because Doug and I needed a while to deal with our disappointment over the second failure. I also felt it was necessary to prepare myself physically and mentally. But it’s going to work this time. I just know we’re going to have our baby.”

“I hope you do,” Alix said. “People who want children should have them.”

“There’s always adoption,” Jacqueline said. “Have you considered that?”

“We have,” Carol replied. “It’s a viable option, but we don’t want to try for adoption until we’ve done everything possible to have a biological child.”

“From what I understand, there’s quite a waiting period,” Jacqueline said and then seemed to regret speaking.

“Yes, I know … Doug and I have talked about that, too. We might have to look into an overseas adoption but we’ve read that those can be difficult. Anyway, these are all options we’re willing to consider if we can’t have our own child, but we’ll make those decisions when and if the time comes.”

I waited a moment and then gestured to Alix. “Tell us a little about yourself.”

Alix shrugged. “My name’s Alix Townsend and I work at the video store across the street.”

I hoped she wouldn’t mention working on the baby blanket to deduct hours from her court-ordered community service, but I couldn’t stop her if she did. Once Jacqueline heard that, I figured she’d probably walk right out of the class. Forgive me for being so mercenary, but Jacqueline would buy far more yarn than Alix ever could.

“I happen to like living in this neighborhood,” Alix said pointedly, “and I hope I can continue to live here once they’re through screwing up the street.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared across the table.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jacqueline muttered. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“I thought,” I said, still standing, “that we could discuss the different weights and types of yarn for our first lesson.” I felt an urgent need to distract Alix, although I was a strong supporter of the Linus Project. “The pattern I’ve chosen is one of my favorites. What I like about this particular pattern is that it’s challenging enough to keep you interested, but not so difficult as to discourage you. It’s done in a four-ply worsted weight yarn and knits up fairly quickly.”

I had a large wicker basket filled with samples of several worsted weight yarns in a variety of colors. “I know it might sound rather self-serving, but I feel I should mention something here. Always buy high-quality yarn. When you’re investing your time and effort in a project, you defeat yourself before you even start if you use bargain-basement yarn.”

“I agree one-hundred percent,” Jacqueline said firmly. I’d known she wouldn’t have a problem with that.

“What if some people can’t afford the high-priced stuff?” Alix demanded.

“Well, yes, that could make things difficult.”

“You said anyone taking the class gets a twenty-percent discount on yarn. Are you sticking to that or have you changed your mind?”

“I’m sticking to it,” I assured her.

“Good, because I don’t have a lot of change jingling around in the bottom of my purse.” She reached for a pretty pink-and-white blend of wool and acrylic. “This costs how much?”

“Five dollars a skein.”

“For each one?” A horrified look came over her.

I nodded.

“How many would I need if I knit the blanket using this?”

I glanced down at the pattern and then calculated the yardage of the worsted against the total amount of yarn required for the project. I grabbed my calculator. “It looks like five should do nicely. If you only use four you can return the fifth one to me for a full refund.”

Alix stood and reached into her pocket and dragged out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “I can only buy one this week, but I should be able to pick up the second one next week, if that’s all right.”

“It’s important to get the same dye lot for each project, so I’ll put aside what you need and you can pay me as you go.”

Alix looked pleased. “That works for me. I suppose the lady married to that fancy architect can buy all the yarn in your shop.”

“My name is Jacqueline and I’d prefer that you use it.”

“I’d like you all to choose your yarn now, if you would,” I said quickly, cutting the two of them off before Alix leaped across the table and attacked Jacqueline. I hated to admit it, but the older woman wasn’t the most personable soul. Her attitude, although different, wasn’t any better than Alix’s.

Jacqueline sat by herself and took up half the table. When Carol arrived, she’d had no choice but to sit next to Alix. It was clear from Jacqueline’s manner that she expected to be catered to, not only in this class, but in life.

I couldn’t help wondering what I’d gotten myself into with these knitting classes, and frankly I was worried. I’d thought … I’d hoped to make friends with my customers, but this was starting off all wrong.

The class lasted two hours and we barely got through casting on stitches. I chose the knitting on method, which is by far the simplest way to learn but not the preferred method. I didn’t want to overwhelm my three students during their first lesson.

I had reason to doubt my teaching abilities by the end of the class. Carol picked up the technique immediately, but Alix was all fingers. Jacqueline didn’t take to it quickly, either. When at last it was closing time, my head was pounding with an approaching headache and I felt as if I’d run a marathon.

It didn’t help that Margaret phoned just as I was getting ready to close for the day.

“A Good Yarn,” I said, scooping up the receiver, hoping to sound upbeat and eager to be of service.

“It’s me,” my sister returned in a crisp business tone. With a voice like that, she should be working for the Internal Revenue Service. “I thought we should discuss Mother’s Day.”

She was right. Opening the store had so completely consumed me that I hadn’t remembered. “Of course, we need to do something special for Mom.” It would be our first Mother’s Day without Dad and I realized it was going to be difficult for all of us, but especially for Mom. Despite our differences, Margaret and I did something together every year to honor our mother.

“The girls suggested we take her to lunch on Saturday. We’re seeing Matt’s mother on Sunday.”

“Excellent idea, but my shop is open on Saturdays.” I knew Saturday was a prime business day and I couldn’t afford not to be open; I closed the shop on Mondays instead.

My sister hesitated and when she spoke again, she seemed almost gleeful. It didn’t take me long to discover why.

“Since you can’t get away, the girls and I will see Mom on Saturday and you can have your own time with her on Sunday.” This meant Margaret wouldn’t have to share our mother with me. Mom’s attention would be on my sister, which was clearly why Margaret had arranged things this way. I didn’t understand why everything had to be a competition for her.

“Oh.” I’d hoped we’d all be together.

“You’re not working on Sunday, are you?”

My shoulders sagged. “No, but … well, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t have any choice, do I?” Margaret said in the surly, aggressive tone I have long detested. “You’re the one who can’t make lunch on Saturday. I suppose you want me to adjust my schedule to yours, but I won’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to change anything.”

“Not in so many words, but I could read between the lines. I do have a husband, you know, and he has a mother, too. For once we wanted to spend Mother’s Day with her.”

Rather than get into an argument, I kept my voice as unemotional as possible. “Perhaps we could compromise.”

“How do you mean?”

“I know Mom would love to have lunch on the waterfront. I could meet you there and close the shop for a couple of hours. That way we could all be together and then I’d join her on Sunday, as well.”

I could tell from the lengthy pause that Margaret wasn’t happy with that idea. “You expect me to pick up Mom and drive into Seattle on a Saturday afternoon—because it’s more convenient for you? We both know how dreadful the traffic is.”

“It’s only a suggestion.”

“I’d rather we celebrated Mother’s Day separately this year.”

“Fine. Perhaps we should.” I left it at that and made a mental note to call Mom to explain.

“Good. We’ve got that settled.” I noticed that Margaret didn’t ask about my first two weeks of business. Nor did she make any other inquiries or give me an opportunity to ask what was going on in her life.

“I have to go,” Margaret said. “Julia’s dancing class starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Give her my love,” I said. My two nieces were a joy to me. I loved them deeply and felt close to both Julia and Hailey. Sensing my feelings, Margaret did her best to keep the girls away from me. But now that they were preteens, they had minds of their own. We often chatted and I suspected they didn’t let their mother know.

My sister hung up without so much as a goodbye. That was typical behavior for Margaret.

I walked over to the front door and turned over the sign to read Closed. As I did, I saw Brad Goetz coming out of the apartment building where Alix lived. He was in a hurry, half-jogging to his truck. I couldn’t see where he’d parked, but I thought I knew the reason for his rush. He was handsome and eligible, and there was every likelihood he had a Friday-night date.

I could’ve been the one joining him for dinner—only I wasn’t. That had been my own choice, a choice I was beginning to regret….

10
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

In an attempt to hide her nervousness, Jacqueline poured herself a second glass of chardonnay. After the first sip she stepped into the kitchen and brought out the hors d’oeuvre platter for their guests. Martha had put together crackers artfully swirled with herb-mixed cream cheese and decorated with tiny shrimp. Paul had phoned earlier in the week to ask if he and Tammie Lee could stop by the house on Wednesday evening.

They’d spent the Mother’s Day weekend in Louisiana with Tammie Lee’s mother, who apparently wasn’t feeling well. Jacqueline had made a conscious decision not to take offense.

This was the first time Paul had ever asked permission to visit the family home, and Jacqueline’s nerves had been badly frayed ever since his phone call.

“Relax,” Reese said, following her into the kitchen.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Jacqueline murmured. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized it was a full ten minutes before her son and daughter-in-law were due to arrive. She cringed at the prospect of making small talk with Tammie Lee, and feared that Paul was about to announce he’d accepted a transfer to the New Orleans branch so Tammie Lee could be close to her family.

“Setting up an appointment to come over here isn’t like Paul.”

“He was just being thoughtful.” Reese walked around the counter and sat on a stool. “Isn’t knitting supposed to soothe your nerves?”

“That’s another thing,” Jacqueline snapped. “I’m dropping out of that ridiculous class.”

His head flew back at the vehemence of her declaration. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I have my reasons.” She didn’t like the look on Reese’s face—as if he was disappointed in her. But he wasn’t the one confronting that ill-mannered punk rocker or whatever those people called themselves these days. Alix, spelled A-L-I-X, resembled a gang member; the girl frightened her. “Why should you care what I do?” Jacqueline leaned against the counter across from her husband.

“You seemed excited about it last week,” he said blandly. It was obviously of no consequence to him. “I thought it was a conciliatory gesture on your part. I assumed you signed up for the classes to show Paul you’re planning to be a good grandmother.”

“I am determined to be a wonderful grandmother. For heaven’s sake, what chance does a child of Tammie Lee’s have? She’ll grow up learning how to pickle pigs’ feet.” She shivered at the very idea.

“Now, Jacqueline …”

“Actually, I blame you for this.”

“Me?” Reese straightened and for a moment he seemed about to laugh outright. “You blame me for what?”

“For the fact that I’m in this … this awful knitting class.”

He frowned. “You’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s a young woman in the class. I can’t imagine why she’d ever want to learn to knit, but it’s not important. She’s vile, Reese. That’s the only word I can think of to describe her. Her hair is the most ludicrous shade of purple and she took an instant dislike to me when she learned that you’re responsible for what’s happening in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

Reese reached for his wine. “Most people there welcome the renovation.”

“Alix lives in the apartment building at the end of the street.” As far as Jacqueline could see, it was a rat-infested dump. If it was slated for demolition, all the better. Alix and her kind would need to look elsewhere for low-rent housing. Girls like that weren’t wanted in an upscale neighborhood, which Blossom Street would soon become.

“Ah,” Reese murmured and sipped his wine. “Now I understand.”

“What’s planned for the building?” Jacqueline asked.

“That hasn’t been decided.” Reese gently swirled his wine against the sides of the goblet. “The city is talking to the owner. My idea was to completely remodel the place into condos, but it seems some advocates for low-income housing now have the mayor’s ear.”

“That’s unfortunate. Those low-rent people will ruin the neighborhood. You might as well kiss all your hard work goodbye.” She hated to sound like a pessimist, but if Alix was any indication of the quality of person living in that building, then the entire street was at risk.

“Maybe you should give the knitting class another try,” Reese suggested, ignoring her outburst.

The truth of it was that Jacqueline wanted to continue. She hadn’t found the class “awful” at all; that was an exaggeration for Reese’s benefit. Other than the confrontation with Alix, she’d enjoyed the lesson. At one point, Lydia had told them to walk around the shop and choose three balls of yarn in their favorite colors. At the time it’d seemed like a useless exercise. Jacqueline had chosen a silver gloss, a deep purple and a vibrant red. Lydia’s next instruction had been to choose wool in the color she disliked most. Jacqueline had gone immediately to a skein of bright yellow, which was the color that appealed to her least. Lydia had talked about contrasting colors and showed how they often complement each other. In fact, the yellow had looked completely different against the purple, and just as Lydia had said, the contrast was surprisingly effective.

She’d discovered that so much of knitting was about choosing the textures and colors, which was something she hadn’t considered before. Jacqueline had walked out of the class with the realization that she’d learn far more than the basic knitting stitches. That, however, did little to quell her uneasiness concerning Alix.

“I might decide to attend the second beginners’ session later in the summer,” Jacqueline muttered, still unsure of what to do. She’d paid for the entire six-week course and detested the thought of some hoodlum driving her away with intimidation and ill-manners.

The doorbell rang and Jacqueline felt the tension crawl up her spine. While Reese answered the door, she forced a smile and moved into the formal living room, hands clasped in front of her. She waited for Reese to greet Paul and Tammie Lee in the foyer.

“How wonderful to see you both,” Jacqueline purred, extending her arms to Tammie Lee and her son as they entered the room. She briefly hugged her daughter-in-law and grazed Paul’s cheek with her lips. Now that she knew Tammie Lee was pregnant, she wondered how she hadn’t guessed earlier. Her daughter-in-law was definitely showing—enough to be wearing a maternity top.

Paul and Tammie Lee sat on the sofa, so close their shoulders touched. They held hands, as if to proclaim that nothing would tear them apart.

While Reese poured a glass of wine for Paul, Jacqueline carried in the platter of hors d’oeuvres. Tammie Lee smiled up at Jacqueline.

“I just love shrimp and ever since I’ve been pregnant I’ve had the worst craving for them,” she said in a soft twang. “Just ask Paul. I think he must be thoroughly sick of shrimp, but he never complains.” She gazed lovingly toward her husband as she accepted a small napkin and two crackers.

Paul cast his wife a look of love and pride, and it was all Jacqueline could do to maintain her composure. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand what her son saw in this girl.

“What can I get you to drink?” Reese asked Tammie Lee when he brought Paul his wineglass.

“It’s so nice of you to ask, but I’m just fine, thank you.”

If there was anything for which to be grateful, Jacqueline mused, it was the fact that Tammie Lee seemed to be taking care of herself during the pregnancy. At least she had that much common sense.

Reese and Jacqueline sat across from them in leather chairs, with a polished mahogany end table between them. They so rarely used the formal living room that five years after she’d purchased the chairs they still smelled of new leather.

“I think we should tell them,” Tammie Lee whispered to Paul.

Paul nodded and squeezed her hand. “Tammie Lee had an ultrasound this afternoon and it seems we’re having a baby girl.” He smiled. “Sometimes they can’t be sure, but our technician was quite positive it’s a girl.”

“A girl,” Reese repeated and the happiness in his voice was unmistakable. He stood and clapped Paul on the back. “Did you hear that, Jacquie? We’re finally getting our baby girl!”

Jacqueline felt her hands go numb. “A granddaughter,” she repeated as the odd tingling sensation spread up her arms. Oh, how she’d once longed for a daughter.

“We haven’t chosen any names yet,” Tammie Lee rushed to add in that soft drawl of hers. It always made her sound as if she was talking underwater. “We only decided this afternoon that we wanted to know the sex of the baby. You’re the first people we’ve told.”

“Your mother and I had always hoped for a little girl,” Reese said, echoing Jacqueline’s thoughts.

“That’s … wonderful,” Jacqueline finally managed.

“We decided we should let you know, Mom,” Paul said, directing his attention to her for the first time, “so you’d know what color yarn to get for the baby blanket.”

“Mrs. Donovan, I declare, when Paul told me you were knitting a blanket for the baby, it just warmed my heart. Y’all have been so kind to me.” She planted both hands over her stomach and sighed.

That twang of Tammie Lee’s put Jacqueline’s teeth on edge. Some might find it pleasing, but to Jacqueline it sounded uneducated. Unrefined.

“There’s more news,” Paul said, moving toward the edge of the sofa cushion.

“More?” Reese said. “Don’t tell me you’re having twins.”

“Nothing like that.” Paul laughed shortly.

Tammie Lee grinned at her husband. “Twins! I’m so nervous about one baby, I can’t even imagine what would happen if we had two.”

Paul turned to share such a gentle look with his wife that Jacqueline glanced away. Any hope she had of her son regretting his marriage died a quick death.

“So what’s your other news?” Reese asked.

Paul’s face brightened. “I got word last week that Tammie Lee and I have been accepted into the Seattle Country Club.” The club, to which Jacqueline and Reese belonged, was the most prestigious in the area. New memberships were limited to only a few each year. It went without saying that only the right kind of people were accepted. One of Jacqueline’s first thoughts when she was introduced to Tammie Lee was that Paul had ruined his chances of ever joining the country club.

“I’m so pleased,” Jacqueline said, doing her best to smile. Apparently Tammie Lee’s lengthy and inappropriate discussions of southern cuisine hadn’t been as much of a detriment as she’d assumed.

“I’ve been asked to work on the cookbook committee,” Tammie Lee gushed as if this was the greatest compliment of her life. “I can’t tell you the number of times someone’s asked me to share my mama’s, Aunt Thelma’s and Aunt Frieda’s favorite recipes.”

“Recipes for what?” Jacqueline blurted out the question before she could stop herself.

“Mainly folks want to know about hush puppies. Four or five ladies have already asked me about those.”

“Hush puppies?”

“It’s like cornbread, Mother,” Paul supplied.

“I know what they are,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Paul loves my hush puppies,” Tammie Lee twanged in her eagerness to continue. “My mama told me they got their name from hunters who threw leftover ends of the cornbread to their dogs to keep ‘em quiet at night.”

“This is the recipe you’re submitting to the Seattle Country Club Cookbook?” Jacqueline was convinced she’d never be able to show her face in public again.

“Oh, and I asked Mama for Grandma’s recipe for Brunswick stew, which is my daddy’s all-time favorite. My grandma was raised in Georgia before she married my grandpa and moved to Tennessee. I was almost eighteen before we moved to Louisiana, so I really consider myself a bluegrass girl.”

“Brunswick stew,” Jacqueline said. That at least sounded presentable.

“It’s a southern version of chili. Mama always served it when we had a barbecue. Mama has Grandma’s original recipe and I’ll need to change it a bit. Everyone uses pork or chicken nowadays, instead of possum or squirrel.”

One more word from this woman and Jacqueline was afraid she’d keel over in a dead faint.

“I hope you give them your recipe for deep-fried okra,” Paul said as if he’d never tasted anything so good in his life. “You wouldn’t believe what Tammie Lee does with okra. I swear I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Once and only once had Jacqueline sampled the slimy green vegetable. It’d been in some kind of soup dish. Never having seen it before, she’d lifted it from the bowl and been repulsed by the thick slime that had dripped from her spoon. She’d nearly gagged just looking at it and now her son was telling her he enjoyed this disgusting vegetable.

“I have a recipe for pecan pie that’s a family favorite and I’d be happy to share that, too.”

“Actually, I think it’s because of Tammie Lee’s cooking that we got accepted by the country club.”

Jacqueline had to bite her lip to keep from reminding Paul that she’d been volunteering there for years. Her charity projects had been some of the club’s most successful fund-raising events. Reese’s name carried plenty of weight, too, but apparently their son hadn’t taken his parents’ longstanding contribution into account. Oh, no, he assumed it was Tammie Lee’s method of cooking road kill—squirrel, for heaven’s sake!—that had opened the doors.

“You do seem to be full of good news,” Reese said, grinning in a way that conveyed his delight.

“Yes,” Jacqueline agreed, making an effort to look equally delighted. She was trying, trying hard, but it was difficult.

“I declare I don’t know any couple happier than Paul and me,” Tammie Lee drawled. “I can’t believe any man has as much love for a woman as Paul does for me, especially since we found out about the baby.”

“We’re thrilled to have you as part of our family,” Reese said.

“I can feel your love,” Tammie Lee said, looking at Reese. “And I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me the way you have.”

Paul’s eyes connected with Jacqueline’s. He knew her feelings. She might be able to fool Tammie Lee, but her son knew her all too well. Until now, Paul had protected his young wife from her disapproval. At one time, mother and son had shared a special closeness, but since the advent of Tammie Lee, that had virtually disappeared.

In that moment, Jacqueline saw the fierce challenge in her son’s gaze. She knew that if she said one word to hurt Tammie Lee, he’d never forgive her.

11
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol placed the bouquet of fresh flowers in the center of the dinner table and stepped back to examine her handiwork. She’d walked down to Pike Place Market early in the afternoon and purchased the white lilies and red astromeria, along with fresh salmon and just-picked baby asparagus spears. She’d arranged the flowers herself, using a porcelain vase that had come with the roses Doug had sent on their last anniversary.

For so many years, all her efforts and energy had gone into her career. When she’d first quit her job she’d faltered, unsure of how to fill her days. She would’ve been completely lost if not for her online support group. These women had become as close as sisters; they all struggled with the problems of infertility and gave each other information and encouragement. She was heartened to discover that several of the other women had started knitting for relaxation and a sense of accomplishment. Carol shared those goals, but for her knitting was also a symbol of the life she wanted to live, would live—as a mother.

Everything had changed for the better the day she’d found the knitting shop on Blossom Street.

After meeting Lydia and the others last week, it was as if a whole world had opened up to her. For the first time she looked upon her condo as more than a place to sleep and occasionally entertain. It was her home and she decided to make it a real one, with small feminine touches that conveyed her love for her husband and soon-to-be child.

Usually when her brother stopped by they went out to eat. This evening, Carol was cooking their meal. Rick had sounded troubled when he’d phoned and she wanted to create a comfortable, intimate atmosphere where they could talk freely. The shopping and flower-arranging had taken up most of the afternoon, but she’d loved every minute of it. Six months ago she would’ve scoffed at the idea of arranging flowers or spending a morning wandering the aisles at a local farmer’s market. Now those small domestic activities were a source of pleasure and satisfaction. Because she was doing them for her family.

Rick called from the lobby and Carol hurried to meet him at the door, hugging her brother hard as soon as he stepped inside.

“Well, well,” Rick said, leaning back, apparently surprised by the warmth of her greeting. “I didn’t expect to be knocked off my feet.”

“Sorry. It’s just that it’s so good to see you.”

Rick laughed and looked around the condo. “Where’s Doug?”

“He phoned—he’s running late. I’m sure he won’t be much longer.”

She glanced at her watch as she led Rick into the living room. Doug hadn’t shown nearly as much enthusiasm about this dinner with Rick as she had. “Would you like a beer?” Her brother preferred ale to hard liquor. He only drank when he was twenty-four hours from flying.

“I’d love one.” He sat down where he had an unobstructed view of the waterfront and was quiet for a long moment as he gazed out the window. He accepted the beer and smiled his thanks. “Can I do anything to help with dinner?”

“Not a thing. Everything’s almost ready.”

“You’ve done all right for yourself, little sister,” he said, sounding almost sad. He tipped back the beer bottle and took a drink.

“So have you,” she told him.

Rick chuckled softly. “Have I?”

“My goodness, Rick,” she said, trying to lighten his somber mood. “You’re a pilot for a major airline. It’s your dream come true.” Her brother had worked his way up through the ranks. For as long as Carol could remember, Rick had talked about being a pilot. From the time he could drive, he started hanging around airports, talking to the pilots, learning what he could.

He smiled as if in agreement. “I should be happy, then, right?”

“You aren’t?” She went into the living room, abandoning the salad she’d set on the counter. The finishing touches could wait. Sitting across from him, she leaned close. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughed off the question. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m fine. Forget I said anything.”

“I’m not going to forget it. Now, tell me what’s on your mind. You didn’t come all this way to check out my view for the umpteenth time.”

He shrugged, dismissing her question. “Actually, I was in a great mood until I saw what you’ve done with the place.”

“Exactly what have I done?” Carol asked with a smile. “And why would that ruin your mood?”

Her brother looked around, and, after a few minutes, frowned. “I don’t know exactly, but there’s a difference.”

He’d noticed. Actually, everything was in the same place it’d been during his last visit. The furniture was all the same, too; outwardly very little had changed. Yet the condo felt transformed. The flowers and polished wood and shining glass were small things, but they expressed her new attitude toward home and what it meant. This was a place of love, a place waiting to welcome a child.

“There is a difference,” Carol confirmed, “but I’m the one who’s changed. I’m happy, Rick, genuinely happy.”

The forlorn expression on her brother’s face was enough to bring tears to her eyes. “And you’re not,” she said softly.

“No,” he breathed. He leaned forward and braced his arms against his legs, letting the beer dangle between his parted knees. “Nothing seems right without Ellie.”

Her brother and Ellie had divorced a year ago. He’d never spoken of the breakup before, and his willingness to introduce the subject now was an indication of how miserable he was.

“I’m still in love with her,” he confessed, “but I screwed up.”

Carol held her breath. Because she loved and respected both her brother and his wife, she’d done her best to stay out of it. The one conversation she’d had with Ellie since the divorce had been awkward and unsettling, and Carol hadn’t phoned her since.

Carol wasn’t the only one in the dark, either. Even her parents didn’t know what had caused the dissolution of Rick’s marriage. Whatever it was, he seemed to regret his divorce and want his ex-wife back. “Have you been in touch with Ellie?” she asked.

Rick nodded. “She said it’d be better if we went our separate ways. I tried, Carol, I gave it a real effort, but my life isn’t any good without her. I had no idea it would be like this.” He briefly tilted his head toward the ceiling and forcefully expelled his breath. “I hear she’s dating again.”

“That must hurt.” Rick and Ellie had been college sweethearts. Carol remembered the first time she’d met the outgoing blonde. She’d instantly liked Rick’s girlfriend and had hoped to have her as a sister one day.

“The thought of Ellie with some other man is driving me insane. All I can think about is how stupid I’ve been. I’d give anything to work this out with her. If it meant quitting my job, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I’m so sorry.” Carol felt at a loss to help him, especially since she still didn’t know what had gone wrong.

“Yeah, I am, too.”

“Do you want to explain what happened?”

“Ellie didn’t tell you?” he asked, his eyes widening. “I assumed she had.”

Carol shook her head. “I called her after you told me she’d filed for divorce, but she said she’d rather not discuss it.” She didn’t add that Ellie had been sobbing at the time. Until the end, Carol had hoped the two of them would be able to settle their differences and reunite. After the divorce, though, it seemed Ellie was intent on moving forward with her life.

“I’m away from home so much,” her brother said. “It gets lonely, you know?”

This was what Ellie had implied but Carol had refused to accept it. Rick would never do such a thing, she’d told herself. He was her older brother, her hero. Still, she had to know. “You … didn’t have an affair, did you?”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t like that … But Ellie—well, she can’t accept the fact that I’m around beautiful women on the job and away from home. It became a trust issue.”

Carol wouldn’t feel entirely comfortable with Doug constantly being around other women, either, but she didn’t say so. Her brother didn’t need to hear about her own insecurities.

“I don’t know why she felt that way,” Rick went on. “It’s Ellie I love.” He wiped his face in a weary gesture. “I tried to convince her that she’s the only woman for me but she wouldn’t listen. I can’t believe she threw away our marriage because she didn’t trust me.”

Carol couldn’t believe it, either, but she kept her thoughts to herself. There were two possibilities: Ellie had been jealous and irrational or there was more to Rick’s behavior than he was saying.

“I did everything I could to talk Ellie out of the divorce,” he continued. “Okay, so maybe I was tempted, but hell, what am I supposed to do every night? Sit in my hotel room and watch television? I did go out occasionally. Can you really blame me for that?”

Maybe there was some basis for Ellie’s distrust. Still, Carol found it practically inconceivable that her brother would cheat on his wife. He was an honorable man but he was a man, and if he had a drink with a flight attendant or a female pilot now and then—was that so bad? Perhaps Ellie had simply overreacted.

“I suppose I should be grateful we delayed having a family,” he mumbled.

Carol agreed; if there was anything to be grateful for, it was that. She hated the thought of children suffering the upheaval of a broken home.

“Ellie wanted kids, but I wasn’t ready.”

Carol nodded.

“Any idea what I should do now?” he asked, peering at her as if she could provide him with answers.

She patted his arm gently, not knowing how to respond. Rick could be his own worst enemy. He’d always been a sociable person, the life of the party, a natural daredevil, and she’d loved and admired him as her gallant older brother. It saddened her to see how unhappy he was.

“You need to prove yourself to Ellie.”

“But how?” he cried. “I’m telling you, Carol, I’m at my wits’ end. Ellie claims she doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Perhaps you could write to her.”

“Write what?”

“A letter,” she said. “Better yet, use e-mail. Tell her you’re an idiot.”

“I think she already knows that.” For the first time since they’d started talking, she saw a hint of smile on his face. “What if she won’t answer me?”

“Don’t take no for an answer. Let her know you aren’t giving up.”

“Should I send her flowers? That kind of thing?”

“Bring her strawberries and fresh fruit from the Pike Place Market.” Fresh fruit was available in Juneau, but it was extremely expensive. “A whole basket,” Carol suggested. “As I recall, Ellie loves blueberries.”

“She does?”

“Rick! You should know that. She was your wife.”

“That’s the problem,” her brother moaned. “I didn’t pay her near enough attention. I didn’t realize how much I loved her until it was too late.”

“Then you’re going to make up for lost time.”

He grinned, and it was the same boyish smile she remembered from childhood. “Your enthusiasm is catching. You really think I can win her back?”

“Yes,” she cried. It felt good to have her brother turn to her, to need her help. Rick had made a mistake and hadn’t fought for his marriage, but she’d do everything she could to support him.

12
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Laurel owed Alix, so she had her roommate cover for her the minute Jordan Turner showed up at the video store on Tuesday night. As soon as she saw that he was getting ready to leave, she slipped out front and pretended to be on break. Her hand shook as she lit a cigarette; she leaned against the building and took a deep drag, hoping the nicotine would calm her.

When the door opened and Jordan stepped outside, Alix called to him.

“Hi,” she said.

He looked over his shoulder. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“All right. I didn’t see you earlier,” she lied. “I put aside The Matrix for you if you’re still interested.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.”

“I aim to please.” She reached for her cigarettes and silently offered him one.

“No, thanks.”

She should’ve guessed he was a nonsmoker. She stared at the tip of her lit cigarette. “I’m trying to cut back. These are the low-nicotine cigarettes, but I swear I’m going to end up with a hernia getting any taste out of this.”

He chuckled at her stupid joke and a warm, happy feeling came over her.

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood,” Jordan said.

“Alix Townsend. Alix, spelled A-L-I-X.” She thrust out her hand, which he shook. “You’re Jordan Turner,” she went on before he had a chance to introduce himself. “Your driver’s license is on file. You live off Fifth Avenue, don’t you?” She didn’t mind letting him know she was interested. She thought of the boy she’d once known with the same name, but that was years ago, back in grade school. He’d been a decent kid, and she’d had a crush on him, but it felt like something that had happened in another time and another place.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Could it be the same Jordan Turner? She studied him, wondering if it was possible. She took another deep drag of the cigarette in an effort to calm her rattled nerves.

No, this couldn’t be the same Jordan Turner, she decided. Still, her memories of him were fleeting and she wasn’t absolutely sure. She might have dredged up the courage to ask, except that he continued the conversation.

“I don’t work far from here.”

So he stopped in for videos on his way home from work. Lots of people did.

“You can tell a lot about a person from the videos they rent,” she said casually. She tossed the cigarette onto the sidewalk and crushed it with the toe of her combat boot.

“I’ll bet you can.”

“Do you want to know what I learned about you?” This was one of her best conversational gambits—character analysis through movie selection—although she didn’t have much opportunity to use it.

He grinned, and she was struck by how cute he was when he smiled. Laurel couldn’t understand what Alix saw in a guy as average as Jordan. She couldn’t explain it to her friend, either. Someone attracted to a guy who rented XXX videos just wouldn’t get it.

Jordan leaned against the wall beside her. “Go ahead and tell me what you’ve figured out.”

Flustered now, Alix suddenly found it difficult to express herself. She faltered and struggled with what she wanted to say and to her utter humiliation, she couldn’t do it. In one final attempt to redeem herself, she gestured weakly with her hands and said. “They’re cool, you know.”

“Cool?” Jordan repeated. “You mean I pick cool movies?”

“Yeah.” She wanted to crumple onto the sidewalk and disappear.

“Thank you.”

The heat was radiating from her face. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said gruffly and without another word, she practically ran back into the store.

To make matters worse, Laurel was waiting for her. “How’d it go?” her roommate asked eagerly the instant Alix returned.

Alix glared at her.

Laurel raised both hands. “That bad, huh?”

A sick feeling attacked Alix’s stomach. It was like the nausea she’d experienced as a kid when her parents started to fight. That painful sensation used to corrode her stomach—as if she were somehow responsible for every bad thing that had befallen their lives. Jordan might be the same Jordan Turner she’d once known, but there’d been no time to ask. And she couldn’t now, not after she’d run away!

“You okay?” Laurel asked, studying her.

Alix brushed aside the question and marched to the back of the store, where she walked into the employee rest room. The toilet was disgusting. She didn’t want to guess how long it’d been since the last cleaning. The blue additive didn’t begin to disguise the yellow ring around the inside of the bowl. Funny she’d notice that now.

Standing in front of the sink, Alix stared into the mirror. The voices that came to taunt her were familiar ones. They were the ugly, negative voices that shouted words she tried to ignore. Voices that laughed in her face and said she was a loser. No matter what she did or how hard she tried, she’d never amount to anything. Her life was doomed. This was her lot. She’d never earn more than minimum wage, never be loved, never have a real home with things that normal people took for granted, like a phone and a dishwasher.

Pressing her hands to her face, Alix closed her eyes and felt the dark misery descend. She could feel its oppressive weight settle on her shoulders, shoving her down to a place deep inside. She tried unsuccessfully to shake off the depression, tried to shake off the ugly words that echoed in her mind.

The repulsive names her mother had called her rang through her head. She could hear a teacher’s chastisement and belittling comments next, and the humiliation returned as strong now as it had been twelve years earlier. She wanted to bury all the hurtful words. Instead they reverberated through her mind with such force she nearly slumped to the rest room floor.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her. Alix jerked her head toward the noise.

“Alix, you in there?”

Laurel. Damn. “What?” she snapped.

“He’s back.”

“Who?”

“The guy you were just talking to. I don’t know his name.”

Alix bit her lower lip. “You help him.”

“He asked for you.”

“Why?” she asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Laurel said irritably. “Am I supposed to read minds, too?”

“I’ll be out in a minute, all right?” Alix straightened, brushing her hands through her hair as she came to grips with this information. She wondered what possible reason Jordan could have for seeking her out.

Because her face was beet-red, she ran cold water over her hands and then brought them to her cheeks, not caring what it did to her makeup.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally found the courage to come out and face Jordan.

He was standing at the counter waiting. He smiled as she approached.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked as if he’d interrupted her. She didn’t want to give him the impression that she was happy to see him, and in truth, she wasn’t. After humiliating herself once, she didn’t feel like doing it again. Not this soon, anyway.

“You said you’d put aside The Matrix for me?”

Her relief was intense. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I’ve got it up front.” She moved past him and behind the counter to the spot where she’d placed the video.

“I appreciate you doing that for me.”

“No problem,” she said, busying herself with the computer screen. She rang up the total and asked for his card. After he’d paid her the rental fee, she set the video in its protective plastic case, then slipped it inside a bag and handed it to him over the counter. “We’ve got a special on microwave popcorn this week if you’re interested.”

“No, thanks. I bought a case at Costco my last visit. I’ve got enough popcorn to last me for the next ten years.”

She rested her elbows on the counter, feeling awkward and a bit embarrassed. She had no idea what to say, what to ask. If she mentioned the Jordan Turner from sixth grade, it would sound like a pick-up line. “Uh, any other movies you want me to put aside for you?” That wasn’t exactly a scintillating question but at least it made sense.

He shrugged. “Can’t think of any at the moment, but if I do I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

With a nod, Jordan left. The glass door closed and as if by magic Laurel appeared. “What did he want?”

“A movie, what else?”

“How come he only wanted you to help him?”

Alix didn’t feel inclined to go into the details. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“There’s no need to get all snappy with me.”

The door chimed and to Alix’s astonishment, Jordan stuck his head inside. “Alix, what time do you get off work?”

She was too shocked to answer immediately. “Eleven. I close three nights a week.”

“Do you close tomorrow?”

“No. I’m here until nine on Wednesdays.”

“Do you want to meet for coffee then? After work?”

“Ah …” She found it hard to believe he was actually asking her out. Well, sort of out. “Yeah, I guess,” she said as if it wasn’t any big deal.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” He waved and was gone.

A bubble of happiness rose up inside her. It demanded every ounce of restraint she possessed not to stamp her feet with joy.

13
CHAPTER

“Knitting—my Amazing Grace.”

—Nancie M. Wiseman, Editor, Cast On magazine and author of Classic Knitted Vests and The Knitter’s Book of Finishing Techniques

LYDIA HOFFMAN

My mother phoned me early in the week to suggest she, Margaret and I go out to the cemetery together on Memorial Day to visit my father’s grave. It had only been a few months since we laid Daddy to rest. These were difficult days for Mom as she had yet to find her footing as a widow.

I readily agreed to join her, but I wondered about Margaret’s response. She’d managed to manipulate the situation so we didn’t see each other on Mother’s Day. At every family function, my sister acts prickly and standoffish. It seems she’d prefer to forget we have the same parents. More than once, the thought has passed through my mind that Margaret would rather I was the one who’d died instead of our father. That isn’t a pleasant notion to entertain, but given her attitude, I feel it’s true. Yet I continue to try. Some perverse part of me refuses to let go. She’s my sister. Having been so close to death, I feel that even though we might not like each other, we need each other.

I arrived at my mother’s place early Monday afternoon and found Mom sipping tea on the back patio near her garden. She’d dressed in her long black skirt and silk blouse and sat in the wicker chair, enjoying the sunshine.

The roses were trimmed and budding, and the sweet aroma of the lilac bush scented the air. I could see from the linen hankie clutched in her hands that Mom had been weeping.

I moved beside her, wordlessly pressing my hand to her shoulder. She glanced up and managed a teary smile before she laid her hand over mine and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. “I still miss him, you know.”

“Me, too,” I whispered, emotion choking my voice.

“Dad would be upset to see us so maudlin. It’s such a lovely day and soon I’ll have both my daughters with me. How can I possibly be sad?” She reached for the teapot and I realized she’d brought out a second cup, expecting me to join her. Without asking she poured and I sat down beside her.

We chatted a bit. Mom was full of questions about A Good Yarn, my beginning class and the three women who’d signed up. I mentioned Jacqueline, Carol and Alix frequently and talked to her about my other customers, too. Slowly, one by one, I was building my clientele and perhaps just as importantly, I was making friends. My world expanded a little more with each day and I was happy. Whiskers was, too, and has taken to spending time in the shop, often sunning himself in the front window. My cat’s become a real conversation starter, and charms my customers no end. He accepts all the attention as his due.

Because of the holiday weekend, my beginners’ class decided to skip the previous Friday. Jacqueline and Carol were both going out of town. Alix didn’t divulge her plans, but I suspected she didn’t have much opportunity to get out of the city.

I was pleased with the progress each woman had made. I’d had a bit of a challenge talking Jacqueline into staying in the class. She’d planned to quit before the third session, but I convinced her to keep at it. I had the feeling she wanted me to change her mind and I’m glad I did. There’d been a couple of rough moments when Alix dropped a stitch during the second class and let loose with a blue streak that nearly put Jacqueline in a coma. Immediately I suggested Alix find an alternative method of expressing her frustration. To my surprise, she apologized and my appreciation for her increased. Alix isn’t so bad once you get to know her.

Carol’s my star pupil, already half done with the baby blanket, and eyeing other projects. She’s been coming by the shop at least twice a week, often staying to chat. Whiskers sat in her lap a couple of times, just to show he approves of my choice of a friend.

Mom loves hearing stories about my customers. We talk nearly every day. She needs that and frankly, so do I. I might be thirty years old but a girl never outgrows her need for her mother.

“Margaret and the girls will be here at one,” Mom said conversationally, but I wasn’t fooled. She was giving me fair warning. She set her china cup in the saucer and rested her hands in her lap. My mother possesses a natural grace I envy. Margaret’s a great deal like her in that regard.

I’m not sure how to describe my mother. One might well assume she’s as fragile as she looks, but that’s not the case. She’s strong in ways I can only admire. She was a fierce advocate for me in dealing with the doctors and the insurance company during my bouts with cancer. She’s loving and generous and constantly tries to meet the needs of others. Her one drawback is in coping with sickness. She couldn’t bear to see me—or anyone else—suffer and tended to simply withdraw. Fortunately, Dad was always there for me.

“Are Julia and Hailey coming with Margaret?” I asked. My two nieces are a source of wonder to me. The likelihood of my ever bearing children was slim to none, so my sister’s daughters hold an important place in my heart. Margaret seemed to sense this and, for whatever reason, jealously guarded her daughters, keeping them away from me as much as possible.

Julia and Hailey, however, recognized my genuine affection and much to Margaret’s consternation, loved me unabashedly. Their undiluted joy at every chance encounter rankled Margaret so much that she did whatever she could to block my access to my nieces.

“Grandma!” Nine-year-old Hailey loped into the backyard, her arms extended. When she saw me, she squealed with delight and after hugging my mother, vaulted into my arms, nearly strangling me in her enthusiasm.

Fourteen-year-old Julia was a bit more restrained, but her eyes revealed her pleasure at seeing me. I stretched out my free arm to her and when she stepped toward me, we clasped hands and I squeezed her fingers. How tall Julia had grown, more woman than child now, and such a beauty. My heart swelled with pride at the sight of her.

“Aunt Lydia, will you teach me how to knit?” Hailey begged, still clinging to me.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see my sister and brother-in-law come out the back door and onto the patio where I sat with my mother and the girls. From the frown Margaret wore, I could see she’d heard the question. “I’d love to teach you, but it’s up to your mother.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Margaret said sharply. Hailey placed her arm around my shoulders, unwilling to release me.

“Hello, Matt,” I said.

My brother-in-law grinned and winked at me. I remember when Matt and Margaret first started dating. Because she’s five years older than me, I viewed seventeen-year-old Matt as mature and sophisticated, a man of the world. They’d married young and my father disapproved, believing Margaret should wait until she’d graduated from college. She did finish her schooling but hasn’t used her education in the way Dad wanted. My sister has worked at a number of jobs through the years but she’s never found any position that’s really suited her. Margaret is currently employed part-time at a travel agency, but she’s never discussed her job with me. I do applaud her decision to be home as much as possible for the girls, but I’ve avoided sharing my thoughts, uncertain of their reception.

After a brief exchange of chitchat and news, we drove out to the cemetery in two cars. Mom had brought a large bouquet of lilacs from her garden, and Julia and Hailey set them in the receptacle at my father’s gravesite. A large number of American flags flapped in the wind across the cemetery, reminding us of the men and women who sacrificed their lives for our country.

I’ve always found cemeteries curious places. As a child, I had an almost ghoulish fascination with tombstones. I especially enjoyed reading the epitaphs on those from the 1800s and early 1900s. While Margaret and my parents paid their respects to my grandparents, I’d invariably wander off. I broke my leg when I was five when a statue of the Virgin Mary fell over on me. I didn’t tell Mom and Dad that I’d been climbing on her at the time, hoping to look at her face.

I never really knew my grandparents. One set lived on the East Coast and visited only on rare occasions. My mother’s family had come to Seattle at the time of the Great Depression, but her parents had died shortly after I was born. Each Memorial Day we visited their graves and placed flowers by their headstones. I felt little emotion for my long-dead relatives, perhaps a twinge now and then, wishing I remembered them, but that was about it.

Now as I stared down at my father’s marker, so fresh and new, a surge of harsh grief came over me. The marble tablet said so little. His name, JAMES HOWARD HOFFMAN, and the dates of his birth and death: May 20, 1940—December 29, 2003.

Birth to death, and all that appeared between those two events was a dash. That silent dash said nothing about his two tours of duty in Vietnam, or his unwavering love for his wife and daughters. That dash couldn’t possibly reveal the countless hours he’d spent at my bedside, comforting me, reading to me, doing whatever he could to help me. There are no words to describe the depth of my father’s love.

The familiar blinding pain struck me then. One consequence of the tumor that continues to linger is migraine headaches. With the new medicines now available, I can almost always catch them early. The telltale signs are unmistakable. This one, however, had caught me by surprise.

I fumbled in my purse for the pills I carried with me constantly. My mother, aware of my situation, came toward me when she saw me stumble. “Lydia, what is it?”

I breathed in slowly and deeply. “I need to get home,” I whispered, closing my eyes to the blinding sunlight.

“Margaret, Matt,” Mom called urgently. She slid her arm around my waist. Within minutes she’d bundled me into the car but instead of having Matt drive me to my own small apartment above the yarn shop, my mother insisted on bringing me to her house.

It wasn’t long before I was in bed in the room where I’d spent most of my childhood. The shades were drawn. Mom draped cool washcloths on my forehead and then tiptoed out of the room to allow me to sleep.

I knew that once the medication had been given a chance to work, I’d sleep for a couple of hours. Afterward I’d be fine, but reaching that point—the beginning of relief—was difficult.

Soon after my mother left and the horrible throbbing was at its peak, I heard the bedroom door creak open again. Although I was completely prone and my eyes were closed, I knew it was my sister who’d walked into the room.

“You couldn’t do it, could you?” Her words were weighted with bitterness. “You can’t let a day pass without being the center of attention, can you?”

I found it hard to fathom that my sister would seriously believe I’d intentionally bring on a migraine for the sake of a few minutes’ attention. If Margaret had ever suffered with one, she’d know differently. But I was in no shape to argue, so I kept silent.

“Someday it’s only going to be the two of us, you know.”

I did know and wanted so badly to have a good relationship with my sister. If I hadn’t been hounded by pain I would’ve tried to explain how much I wished things could be different between us.

“If you think I’m going to step in and pick up where Mom and Dad left off, you’re sadly mistaken.”

I almost smiled. I couldn’t imagine Margaret doing anything of the kind.

“I refuse to pamper and spoil you. It’s time you grew up and became an adult, Lydia. In fact, it’s long past time you accepted responsibility for your own life. As far as I’m concerned, you can look for sympathy elsewhere.” Having made her great pronouncement, she stalked out of the room.

The sound of the slammed door reverberated through my head. My lungs froze and my heart skipped a beat. With the cool washcloth over my face, it took me a moment to realize tears had dripped from my eyes.

Now more than ever, I was convinced that a relationship with Margaret was impossible.

14
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Jacqueline checked her reflection in the hall mirror and sighed, praying for patience. Paul and Tammie Lee had invited her and Reese to their home for a barbecue. She couldn’t refuse; Paul would easily see through any excuse. Trapped, Jacqueline had no choice but to grit her teeth and make the best of it.

“Are you ready?” Reese asked for the third time.

Grumbling under her breath, Jacqueline joined him. He was jingling his car keys and pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen door that led to the garage.

“Can’t we get out of this?” she asked, knowing it was impossible.

Reese gave her one of his looks. He had several expressions that spoke as clearly as words, and over the years she’d come to identify them all. This one was the off-center humorless smile that conveyed his displeasure at something she’d said or done.

“What’s wrong this time?” she asked, fuming. “Don’t tell me you’re actually looking forward to this barbecue?” Heaven only knew what Tammie Lee might prepare for their dinner. Grilled possum? Barbecued squirrel?

“Don’t you see?” her husband said. “Paul wants us to get to know Tammie Lee and love her the way he does.”

Jacqueline shook her head in a gesture of denial and frustration. “It’s not going to happen, no matter how many barbecues he insists we attend.”

“The least you can do is give Tammie Lee a chance.”

Jacqueline was beginning to resent Reese’s attitude. Her husband was well aware of the importance of marrying the right person. He hadn’t chosen her because of her cute smile. Their parents were good friends, and she’d attended all the best schools and so had he. Yes, she’d loved Reese, but there was so much more to finding an appropriate marriage partner than love, which in her opinion was highly overrated, anyway.

She feared Paul was fast becoming like his father, with his brains situated somewhere below his waistline. Only Paul had married the girl. If he held genuine feelings for Tammie Lee, then her son should do as his father had and set her up someplace, visiting her once a week. Jacqueline didn’t know the extent of her husband’s monetary investment in his Tuesday-night woman, but she suspected it was substantial. She hadn’t checked his financial records after the first year, preferring not to learn the truth. His absence each Tuesday night told her all she needed to know.

They rode in silence to Paul and Tammie Lee’s house, a respectable two-story near Kirkland with a nice view of Lake Washington. Smoke spiraled from the backyard and Jacqueline suspected they’d already put on the meat. Good! The sooner this family gathering was over the better.

Reese rang the doorbell and together they stood on the steps and waited. Tammie Lee opened the door in bare feet, frayed jean shorts and a maternity top, looking like she’d stepped out of the 1960s television series Petticoat Junction.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she drawled, reaching for Jacqueline’s hands and practically dragging her into the house.

“Mom. Dad.” Paul was directly behind his wife. He shook hands with his father and briefly hugged Jacqueline.

Jacqueline didn’t mean to start the afternoon off on a negative note, but she didn’t think it was a good idea for Tammie Lee to be traipsing around the house barefoot. God knows what she could step on or where she might slip.

“I hesitate to mention this, but shouldn’t you be wearing shoes?” She’d asked out of genuine concern for the girl, but Jacqueline could see from the way Paul’s mouth thinned that he was annoyed with her.

“I know you’re right,” Tammie Lee said, leading everyone through the house and into the freshly mowed backyard. “Bless his heart, Paul keeps telling me the same thing, but I just can’t make myself wear shoes. I kick ‘em off the minute I walk in the door. Then last week I made the mistake of walking around the yard in my bare feet and I stepped on a slug.”

Jacqueline cringed.

“I started screaming like the Holy Spirit had come down upon me.”

Paul chuckled. “I’ve never run so fast in my life. I thought she’d been attacked by a swarm of bees or something.”

The patio table was already set and Tammie Lee held up two pitchers of iced tea. “Sweetened or unsweetened?” she asked.

In Jacqueline’s view, iced tea should be served only one way and that was unsweetened. Anyone who wanted to add sugar could do so at the time it was served.

“Unsweetened,” she said and took her place at the table.

“I’ll have the same,” Reese said.

Tammie Lee poured the tea and handed a glass to Jacqueline, who frowned at the green leaf floating on top. “There seems to be something in my tea,” she said, picking up her spoon to remove it.

“That’s a mint leaf,” Tammie Lee said. “My mama wouldn’t let me serve iced tea without fresh mint and lemon slices.”

Feeling like a fool, Jacqueline leaned back in her chair, determined not to say another word. Of course it was mint—she should’ve recognized it—but with Tammie Lee one never knew what to expect.

“This is very pleasant. It was nice of you to invite us over,” Reese said.

Jacqueline stared daggers at him. Nothing about this day was pleasant and he damn well knew it.

“Actually it was Tammie Lee’s idea,” Paul said, standing in front of the barbecue. To her relief, whatever he was cooking smelled divine. The meat sizzled and Paul coated it liberally with some garlicky kind of sauce.

“Yes,” Tammie Lee said, returning to the patio with a notebook and pen. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with Jacqueline and Reese. She opened her notebook to a clean page. “I wanted to ask you about family traditions,” she said eagerly. “It’s just so important for Paul and me to start some family traditions, and I wanted to include yours as much as possible.”

“Traditions?” Jacqueline repeated as if she’d never heard the word before.

“Yes, you know. Like Derby Day?”

Jacqueline exchanged a quizzical look with her husband.

“The Kentucky Derby,” Tammie Lee explained, glancing from one to the other as if expecting them to smile and nod and exclaim “of course.”

“My daddy and all my uncles would wear their white suits and Panama hats, and Mama and my aunts would cook for days.”

“We don’t feel as strongly about the Kentucky Derby here in Seattle as your family does, sweetheart,” Paul said, joining them at the round patio table. He shared a smile with his father. “Tell her about Christmas, Mom.”

“Christmas,” Jacqueline repeated. “What about it?”

“How you used to hang my stockings on the fireplace mantel every Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, but I haven’t done that in years.”

“What about football?” Tammie Lee said excitedly. “Y’all enjoy football here, don’t you?” Her drawl had thickened as she grew more enthusiastic.

“Oh, yes.” It was Paul who answered this time. “Both Dad and I are Husky fans.”

“That’s wonderful! We’ll do tailgate parties. Mama says tailgate parties are a lot like church. All the women dress up in their Sunday best and cook up a tornado. Then we spend hours praying for a miracle.”

Both Paul and Reese laughed but Jacqueline didn’t see the humor in it. “Why would you pray?”

Tammie Lee grinned. “So our team would win.”

Jacqueline managed a tight smile.

As it turned out, the barbecue wasn’t as bad as Jacqueline had feared. She’d had visions of her daughter-in-law’s centerpiece being prepared by a taxidermist, but Tammie Lee had set out a lovely floral arrangement.

All in all, the afternoon was reasonably pleasant—to use Reese’s word—despite Jacqueline’s dire predictions. Dinner consisted of a delightful guacamole and blue corn chips, grilled brisket and potato salad, which was surprisingly good. The jalapeno cornbread was a bit spicy, but Jacqueline had a small piece. Reese raved about the meal, and Tammie Lee beamed with pleasure at his endless compliments. Now that she’d reduced her work hours, her daughter-in-law had time to lavish on meals to please her husband. As a young married woman, Jacqueline had done the same thing. These days, her interest in cooking was nil.

On the drive home, Reese and Jacqueline were silent. Most of the dinner conversation had revolved around family traditions. Apparently Tammie Lee’s family had quite a few, and she happily described each one in lengthy detail, frequently mentioning Aunt Thelma and Aunt Frieda, as well as “Mama” and “Daddy.” Jacqueline had begun to wonder if the girl was homesick.

Well, if she was, Tammie Lee could pack her bags and go visit her mama. With his wife out of the house, perhaps Paul would come to his senses.

“We didn’t have a lot of traditions with Paul, did we?” Reese said as they pulled out onto the freeway entrance.

“Of course we did,” she countered, although she’d been hard-pressed to think of any over dinner. “We made gingerbread houses with him every Christmas, remember?”

“Yes, but that was years ago, when he was a kid.”

“And there was always the Easter Egg hunt at the country club.”

“Yes, and Paul and I used to bring you breakfast in bed every Mother’s Day.”

“That’s right,” Jacqueline said, instantly feeling a sense of relief. She hadn’t failed completely as a mother. “Just because we didn’t dress up in those dreadful white seersucker suits and Panama hats to watch the Kentucky Derby doesn’t mean we didn’t have meaningful traditions with our son.”

Reese took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “Do you remember the year Paul insisted on making you Eggs Benedict?”

“Oh, my goodness, it took Martha months to get the stovetop clean.”

“But you ate every bite. You were such a trouper,” Reese said. “I don’t think I ever loved you more than I did that day.”

Jacqueline’s smile faded as she stared out the passenger window. They had loved each other, and in their own ways, they still did. All this talk about traditions and family had stirred up the dust of bygone years, swirling a storm of happy memories in her direction. It was all a bit unsettling.

“I’m glad Paul and Tammie Lee want to start traditions with their daughter,” Reese said as they neared the house. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jacqueline answered softly. She very much wanted that for her grandchild. She imagined a little girl, dark-haired like Paul, her small arms reaching up to Jacqueline. Tammie Lee might not be her first choice of a wife for her son, but Paul seemed happy. Soon he’d make her a grandmother. Yes, there were a few compensations to be found in this marriage.

Whatever the reason, Jacqueline felt better than she had in months. Perhaps Reese was right and she was being too hard on the girl.

15
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol had been in a good mood all week. She and Doug had impulsively gone out for a wonderful Thai dinner last night, she’d had some encouraging conversations with her online group, and her knitting skills were improving daily. She was looking forward to her class the following day, the fourth in the series. In the last three weeks she’d begun to really enjoy knitting and tackled it with the same energy and enthusiasm she brought to everything in her life. Her first blanket had been a bit flawed; it had a few uneven stitches, so she’d donated it to the Linus Project and bought the yarn for a second one. She had much better control of the yarn’s tension and was pleased with how this new blanket was turning out.

Carrying in the mail, she set it on the table. An envelope addressed to her was on top and Carol recognized the married name of a college friend who’d moved to California. She tore open the envelope, excited to hear from Christine. It didn’t take her long to discover that it wasn’t a letter as she’d hoped, but a birth announcement.

In that instant, Carol’s good mood spiraled downward. She caught her breath and sank into a kitchen chair as she read the details about Christine’s infant born just two weeks earlier on May 27th. A baby boy, the card said.

Christine was the kind of woman who did everything according to a predetermined schedule. That included marrying the perfect man, getting pregnant exactly when she’d planned to, and then delivering a healthy baby.

Carol swallowed hard. Few people would understand the depression she felt at that moment. Only her online friends could fully appreciate her feelings.

Carol sat staring at the wall as she tried to overcome her sense of inadequacy and frustration. She was genuinely happy for Christine and Bill. Yet at the same time, she wanted to pull her hair out and scream at the heavens—demand to know why she wasn’t pregnant. Why her body didn’t function the way other women’s bodies did. These were all questions she’d asked herself dozens of times, questions she’d asked every expert she’d met, and still she had no answers.

Eventually she would have a baby. Carol had to believe that. But it was taking so much longer than she’d ever imagined. The waiting was the most maddening. She had to wait for the medical appointments with the specialists. Then she had to wait for the tests, wait for the treatments and wait again for additional treatments. They weren’t pleasant experiences, either. Forget about privacy and modesty. Forget about everything except this compulsion to have a child.

Carol’s periods had become far more than a monthly nuisance; it was as if her whole world centered on her menstrual cycle. And when they did start, her heart broke and she struggled with the bitterness of disappointment.

Every month that passed—every period that came—was like an hour chimed off by a grandfather clock. At best she had only twelve opportunities a year to conceive and if she wanted a second child or possibly a third, God only knew how many more years that would take.

Carol knew a lot of her friends thought of her as obsessed and moody. She was. But she was also afraid, so terribly afraid.

Making love with Doug had taken on a routine quality. Sex on schedule. And then the frantic wait, the frequent visits to the bathroom, just to check. Had her period started? And when it did …

This IVF had to work, it just had to.

If only someone could give her a definite answer. If only Dr. Ford would tell her and Doug one way or the other whether they could ever have a child. If his diagnosis was negative then they’d learn to deal with it, make adjustments, make other plans.

Instead he allowed them to hope and twice now, they’d plummeted into despair when the IVF failed and she’d miscarried. Twice they’d recovered, willing to try again, willing to do anything and everything, sacrifice all, for a baby.

Carol rubbed her eyes and stood to put on water for a cup of tea—decaffeinated, of course. She’d begun to avoid so many foods for fear they would hinder conception. Her grocery list read like an inventory list for a health food store. Some experts felt diet was critical; other medical professionals disagreed. Carol wasn’t taking any chances. She was going to try anything that might help her stay pregnant.

In so many ways it felt as if her entire life was on hold. She’d left a promising career, went to the best doctors, ate all the right foods, listened to all the motivational tapes and repeated the mantras she’d learned. She had to believe her mind could control her body and that the sheer force of her determination would eventually give her what she wanted most.

Filling the teakettle with water, she set it on the burner and sat down again while she waited for the water to boil. A short handwritten note from Christine caught her eye. Carol hadn’t noticed it at the bottom of the birth announcement. Christine’s lovely cursive said: “I haven’t heard from you in so long!”

There was a very good reason for that. Carol’s friendship with Christine wasn’t the only one she’d allowed to lapse. She’d ignored many of her close friends, mainly because the struggle to get pregnant demanded so much energy. Most of the women she knew were already mothers, and her friends with children socialized primarily with other friends who had children.

Carol and Doug had less and less in common with these friends, whose lives seemed to revolve around babies and playgrounds and birthday parties. If that wasn’t bad enough, there were often lengthy discussions that excluded them. Conversations about schools or day care, about tantrums and teething problems.

Then there were the so-called friends who dismissed their difficulties, who trivialized her desire for a child. One heartless woman in the office had laughingly suggested Carol was welcome to raise one of her four. Other people wanted to comfort her by saying it wouldn’t be long now and modern medicine was so wonderful that within a year’s time she was sure to be pregnant. Well, she wasn’t, and the most horrible fear of all had taken root. There might never be a baby for her and Doug. She could hardly bear it, but she’d rather face the truth than continue like this.

The kettle whistled and she slowly stood and poured the boiling water into the pot. She couldn’t allow such negative thoughts to invade her mind. That only made things worse. She had to believe. She couldn’t let a birth announcement do this to her. God had given her a sign. She had to believe, push aside all negative thinking. She had faith….

The door opened and Carol whirled around, surprised to realize it was so late. “Doug! Is it that time already?” She tried to sound cheerful but knew she’d failed.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her.

“Of course.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked, returning her attention to the teapot.

“Sure. It was fine.”

Doug immediately zeroed in on the mail. He walked over to the table and discovered Christine and Bill’s birth announcement. She watched his face as he read it, and wanted to cry out in pain at the longing she saw in his eyes. After a moment he set it aside as if it were a matter of only the slightest interest. She knew otherwise.

“They had a boy,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“So I see.”

It should’ve been them, she wanted to scream. They should be the couple mailing out birth announcements. They were good people. They had a strong marriage and they’d be wonderful parents….

The infertility was a constant stress on their marriage. Doug had dealt with as much of the indignity as she had. The semen collection in a bathroom off Dr. Ford’s waiting room, the post-coital examinations—all of this was dreadful for him.

People assured her that one day they’d laugh about it. Carol didn’t think that was possible.

“I’m almost half done with the second baby blanket. I have another class tomorrow afternoon.”

Her husband nodded and grabbed the newspaper, heading for his favorite chair in the living room.

Carol wanted to shout at him to talk to her. Instead she bit her tongue and began preparing dinner, a meal she had no appetite for.

16
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Sitting at a window table in Starbucks, Alix concentrated on moving the stitches from one needle to the other and completing the row. No one else in class seemed to have a problem with this basic knitting concept. Carol was already working on her second blanket. Jacqueline was having a few difficulties, but not nearly as many as Alix. No matter how hard she concentrated, Alix would start out with a hundred and seventy-one stitches and by the time she finished the row, there’d be a hundred and eighty or more. Or less, depending on what she’d done wrong.

Lydia reassured her on a regular basis that this was a common problem and explained with limitless patience that Alix wasn’t completing the stitch properly. Well, duh! Then she’d show her again. And Alix would make the same stupid mistake. She didn’t care; she wasn’t giving up until she learned to knit, even if it killed her. She already had thirty bucks invested in this project!

At the end of the row Alix paused, sipped her frappuccino, a rare treat, and counted the stitches. Damn! A hundred and eighty-three! She’d done it again and added stitches where she shouldn’t. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered, which was a tame version of what she was thinking. Apparently being around Jacqueline was rubbing off on her. She barely used the F-word anymore.

Shoving the knitting onto her lap, Alix closed her eyes, trying to ignore the frustration. This class was supposed to help her with anger management? That was a joke if she’d ever heard one.

Even more irritating, Laurel was at the apartment with John and had asked Alix to stay away for a couple of hours. She didn’t know what was going on with those two, but Alix didn’t think it could possibly be good. Things had gotten pretty intense between them recently. John had been making regular appearances at the video store, and Alix hated the way Laurel gushed all over the sleaze. As far as she was concerned, John was bad news.

Once her nerves were calm, Alix carefully unraveled the row, taking out one stitch at a time, which took more effort than it did to complete the frigging row in the first place. Two stitches from the end of the row, she lost her grip on the needle and dropped a stitch. A muttered curse escaped before she could stop herself.

Good thing Jacqueline wasn’t there to hear it. She was offended each and every time the knitting got the better of Alix, which unfortunately was often. Still, she was improving.

Thus far, Alix had avoided a confrontation with the other woman, but she could feel one brewing. At best Jacqueline tolerated Alix, and Alix felt the same way about her.

Jacqueline had a twisted view of the world, in Alix’s opinion. The only things that seemed important to her were pretense and prestige. At each class, she sat and chatted away, putting on airs as if anyone really cared who she saw at social events and club meetings. Most of the time, Alix didn’t know who she was talking about, anyway. Jacqueline spent most of the lesson name-dropping or discussing some ritzy party she’d attended. Well, la-di-da!

Biting down on her lower lip, Alix managed to pick up the dropped stitch and then just before she could slip it onto the needle, she lost it and the whole thing unraveled another two rows.

She muttered an even more furious curse under her breath and was tempted to ditch the entire project. If she had any sense she’d throw it in the garbage, needles and all, and slam out the door.

Alix felt someone’s presence and glanced up to find Jordan Turner standing next to her table. Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank. He was the last person she’d expected to see.

“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble.” He pulled out the chair beside her, turned it around and sat down facing her.

All Alix could do was stare at him with her mouth hanging open. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks. After suggesting they have coffee sometime, he’d vanished. Alix had been bummed out ever since. It was the story of her life; the minute she showed interest in a guy he either ended up in jail or skipped town.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, making sure he knew she wasn’t pleased to see him.

“Actually, I came in looking for you.” He folded his arms over the top of the chair and leaned toward her.

“Sure you did.” That was the type of line John fed Laurel. Alix wasn’t going to fall for it.

“It’s the truth. You can talk to Danny. I went into the store and asked him if he knew where I could find you.” Danny worked part-time during the day shift and was reliable. If she asked him about it, he’d be square with her.

Ignoring Jordan, she caught the dropped stitch and finished the row before she raised her eyes. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I thought I’d buy you a cup of coffee. Are you always this difficult?”

She fixed her gaze on him and refused to blink. “Not really.”

“So this I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude is for my benefit?”

She smiled despite her mood. “You could say that.”

Her lack of welcome apparently didn’t bother him. “Any particular reason?”

Alix picked up her knitting again. It sounded childish and petty to say she was disappointed because he’d led her to believe he’d be by to take her to coffee. Then … nothing. Rather than tell him all that, she started knitting again, paying close attention to her stitches, concentrating as she completed the action of slipping it onto the next needle. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she said casually.

“Are you implying you missed me? I thought a lot about you while I was away, you know.”

She shrugged, looked up and felt a smile lift one side of her mouth. “I might have.”

He liked hearing that; Alix could tell by the way he shifted in his chair and leaned closer. He watched her for a moment and then asked, “What are you knitting?”

“A baby blanket for the Linus Project.”

Jordan nodded. “I’ve heard of that. There was a notice in the church bulletin about it a couple of months ago.”

Damn, he went to church, too? She really knew how to pick ‘em. “Don’t think I’m doing this wonderful deed out of the kindness of my heart,” she said gruffly. “I’m not putting this much effort into a baby blanket out of civic duty.”

“Then why knit it for the Linus Project?”

She might as well admit the truth, and looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. “It’s a way to serve the community hours the court assigned me.” If that didn’t scare him off, then nothing would. She believed in being honest, and if this clean-cut guy was still interested in her, great. If not, she was better off knowing that now.

“Court-ordered community service? Why?”

“I crossed the law and the law won,” she said, finishing the row and paying less attention to the stitches than she should. “But it was a bogus rap and the judge knew it. I got community service instead of jail time. Does that shock a good boy like you?”

“No.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him but let it slide.

“My mother knits.”

Alix stopped herself just in time from telling him that her mother was in prison. Enough honesty for today, she decided; no need to overload him with the truth. His interest flattered her, and she rather liked the fact that he’d sought her out. Glancing up, she was tempted to ask what grade school he’d attended, still wondering if he was the Jordan Turner she’d once known. She only half remembered what that boy had looked like, although she recalled he’d worn glasses. Unlike this Jordan. She might have asked, except that he posed a question instead.

“Are you hungry?” He looked over his shoulder at the display counter in the front. “They’ve got great scones if there are any left. Want one?”

“I could eat,” she said which wasn’t the most gracious statement she’d ever made.

He got up and walked to the counter. Alix watched him for a moment and tried to calm her pounding heart. She turned back to her knitting and finished the row, then triumphantly counted exactly one hundred and seventy-one stitches. Jordan returned to her table, a coffee cup in one hand, with a plate and scone balanced on top of it. In the other hand he carried a second plate with a scone.

“We’re in luck,” he said as he set everything down on the small round table. “They only had two left.”

She nodded, accepting the scone. “Thanks.”

Jordan took a sip of his drink. “Danny didn’t actually know where you’d be and I just happened to see you in the window as I walked by.”

She broke the scone in half and was grateful this had been the only table available when she’d arrived an hour earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have sat in view of the entire street. It depressed her to see what was happening to the neighborhood, mainly because she sensed it was only a matter of time before she and Laurel lost the apartment. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to sleeping in cheap, rat-infested hotel rooms every night. Getting another apartment would mean taking on a second job and waiting tables for tips in places decent guys like Jordan didn’t frequent.

“Where’ve you been?” Alix asked, since he hadn’t volunteered the information. He’d said he was away.

He sipped his coffee, then put it down. “I was running a youth retreat at Warm Beach.”

Alix didn’t have a clue what that was. “This whole time?”

“Not entirely, but the church needed help with the organization, so I worked in the Stanwood office for a few weeks.”

“Oh.” This was the second time he’d mentioned church, and she’d begun to feel a niggling suspicion.

“It’s nice to know you missed me,” he murmured.

“I didn’t say that,” she said a bit more defensively than she’d intended.

He chuckled.

Alix was relieved to see she hadn’t offended him. “Well, maybe I missed you a little.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You got any more youth retreats you need to organize?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Frankly, I hope not. When I accepted the job as youth minister, I expected to spend my time with the teenagers here in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

Alix felt as if her world had caved in. “You’re … a preacher?”

“Youth minister,” Jordan corrected. “I’m currently working at the Free Methodist church in the neighborhood, the one right off Blossom.” His mouth twitched; he seemed to be suppressing laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she muttered irritably.

“Nothing. It’s just that you made it sound as if being a minister was like being a drug lord. Or worse.”

“It’s just that …” Alix was aghast and words failed her—as they always did when she was flustered.

“I’m a youth minister, Alix,” he said and reached for her hand. He smiled then. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“It is you!” Damn, she’d thought so and wished like crazy that she’d said something first.

“Remember sixth grade at Jackson Elementary? It took me a while to make the connection myself.”

“I thought it might be you…. I can’t believe it.” Her mind flashed back to grade school and she narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “We were in the same class, remember?”

“What I remember,” Jordan said, grinning, “was that you sat next to Jimmy Burkhart.”

Alix remembered Jimmy as though it was yesterday. She’d given him a bloody nose and ended up in the principal’s office, and all because Jimmy had been teasing her about wanting to marry Jordan Turner. She and half the other girls in the sixth grade had been agog over the preacher’s son—and now, apparently, Jordan had followed in his father’s footsteps. He was a minister. Damn, wouldn’t you know it?

“I had a valentine for you.”

She stared up at him, overwhelmed by the memory of that fateful year—the year her mother had tried to kill her father.

“I brought it to school and you weren’t there and you never came back.”

Alix didn’t answer. The night before the sixth-grade Valentine party, her mother shot her father. Both had been drinking heavily and then, inevitably, a fight had broken out. Soon the police had arrived, followed by paramedics. Her mother was led away in handcuffs and because there were no relatives to take them, Alix and her brother had been shuffled off to foster homes. That night was the beginning of the end of Alix’s family life, sad as it’d been. Her mother had been sent to prison, and her father, once he was released from the hospital, drifted away, losing contact with his children. Soon she and Tom were wards of the state. With all the turmoil, Alix had never returned to Jackson Elementary … and the valentine Jordan claimed to have for her.

“So,” Jordan said, leaning closer. “I was wondering what you would’ve said if I’d asked you to be my sixth-grade valentine?”

She nearly laughed aloud. Yeah, sure. The daughter of drunks and the son of a preacher. Somehow, she didn’t think this relationship was going to last.

17
CHAPTER

“With a little practice and patience, our hands learn to knit, then our minds are free to enjoy the process.”

—Bev Galeskas, Fiber Trends

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Business was beginning to pick up and I was pleased. I’d sold out of most of my inventory in nearly every yarn weight. I already had my second order into my main supplier. My first beginners’ class was about to officially end. I couldn’t believe six weeks had gone by so quickly. I was thrilled that after five weeks, my three students claimed they wanted to continue, so I agreed to extend the course. Because each class member was working on a different project now, except Alix, I suggested we turn Friday afternoons into a knitting support group. That way, they could all bring in whatever they wanted to work on, and I’d be there to help them at each stage of development. Despite their differences, these three dissimilar women were becoming friends. I could see it happening. Friends with each other and my friends, too.

As for their skills as knitters, Carol’s the most adept and has started a felted hat project.

Alix and Jacqueline still struggle with the basic stitches, but Alix has limited time to knit and Jacqueline—well, Jacqueline’s attitude bothers me. She’s obviously not fond of her daughter-in-law, although she’s never spoken openly about her. Jacqueline has started eyeing other projects now and is leaning toward the pricier yarns. Alix paid for her yarn a little each week, which made it abundantly clear that this is an extravagance. Still, the group simply wouldn’t be the same without her.

Just when I was ready to close on Tuesday afternoon, I saw my sister walking across the street toward the shop. She’d only come here once before, on my first day of business. She’d taken such pride in forecasting financial disaster, but I refuse to allow her to get me down and I braced for a confrontation.

When Margaret entered the store, I knew instantly that something was wrong. She hadn’t come to spread doom and gloom or chastise me. Her face was pale and she seemed close to tears.

“Margaret, what is it?” I hurried toward her.

“I—I …” She had trouble speaking and grabbed my hand so hard I almost cried out.

“Come,” I said, steering her to the back of the store where I had the table and chairs set up for my class. “Sit down. Can I get you a glass of water?”

Margaret shook her head. I’ve never seen my sister this upset. I couldn’t imagine what had caused her distress or driven her to approach me.

“Dr. Abram’s office phoned,” she said, looking up at me as if I should be able to figure out the problem from that little bit of information. I didn’t know who Dr. Abram was. I wondered if Matt had fallen ill or been involved in some kind of accident. Another possibility loomed and filled me with dread.

“Is this about Mother?” I asked. The thought of something happening to Mom so soon after losing Dad terrified me.

“No,” she cried. “This is about me. Dr. Abram said my mammogram needs to be retaken.” She grabbed my hand again. “It seems—it seems I have a lump in my breast.” My sister stared up at me, eyes wide and fearful.

I’ll admit I was shaken by this and sat down next to her. The pressure on my hand increased when she realized I understood.

“I’m so afraid,” Margaret whispered.

“This doesn’t mean you have cancer.” I tried to sound reassuring, but it was difficult. Margaret was thinking the same thing I was. I’d already been on intimate terms with the big C. Mom and Dad had always worried that they’d passed on a genetic flaw that made us vulnerable to the disease. Two of our grandparents had died of it. When I’d first been diagnosed, Mom had insisted Margaret be thoroughly checked, as well. Everything had seemed all right then—but now …

“When’s the second mammogram scheduled?”

“I … was just there…. The technician wouldn’t tell me anything. She said Dr. Abram would have the results read. Then he’d like to see me.”

“Oh, Margaret, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?”

“I … don’t know. I haven’t told anyone.”

“Matt?”

She sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to scare him.”

“But he’s your husband! He has a right to know.”

“I’ll tell him when I have something to report.”

Her voice was cold, and I knew better than to argue. My sister did things her own way and in her own time. Pressuring her wouldn’t do any good.

“How did you feel when you found out you had cancer?” Margaret asked.

I had to strain to make out the words. I’d been sixteen during my first illness and I hadn’t known what I do now or even what I did the second time. The day I learned the tumor had grown back was the worst of my life. I was well aware of what lay ahead and in some ways death seemed preferable.

I knew what this could mean to my sister, and I couldn’t hide my reaction. “I was frightened, too,” I told her.

Her grip on my hand tightened briefly.

“How long have you been keeping this to yourself?” I asked and gently smoothed the hair away from her face.

“Five days,” she whispered and then added urgently, “I want you to promise me something.”

“Of course,” I assured her. Margaret had never asked anything of me before and I was willing to comply, no matter what.

“Don’t tell Mom.”

I hated keeping secrets from our mother but in this case I agreed with Margaret. It was useless to upset Mom until we had the facts.

“Thank you,” she whispered, clearly relieved.

“Anything, Margaret. You know that.”

Her gaze held mine. “Would you …” She hesitated. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but would you go to the doctor with me?”

“Of course.” I’d been planning to offer.

She seemed shocked. “You’d do that?”

I nodded.

“You’d have to close the shop.”

“I won’t let you face this alone.”

Her eyes swam with tears and I reached for a box of tissues and handed her one. Then, because I’ve always regretted that Margaret and I aren’t close, I put my arms around her.

“I’ll be with you, Margaret.”

“Thank you.” She sobbed against my shoulder for a minute before she regained her composure. Breaking away from me, she blew her nose and sniffled. “I’ll do what I can to get the appointment on a Monday—but if I can’t …”

“It doesn’t matter what time of day it is or even what day,” I insisted. I intended to help my sister through this, no matter what.

Margaret seemed about to speak when the bell above the door chimed. I wanted to groan at the interruption, but I was in business and my job was to serve my customers. Even at quarter past five …

The friendly whistle told me it was Brad Goetz, my UPS deliveryman. He wheeled in three large boxes and set them next to the cash register. “How’s it goin’?” he asked as he handed me the computerized clipboard, leaning against the counter.

“Really well,” I said and quickly signed my name, eager to push him out the door.

“Every time I come by I see women in the shop, especially on Friday afternoons.”

“I’ve got a class then.”

“That explains it.” He seemed oblivious to my efforts to steer him toward the exit. “I bet you’re pretty beat at the end of the day.”

“Some days,” I agreed.

He grinned then, as if he’d made his point. “So why don’t you relax and have a drink with me?”

This was his second invitation and of all the bad luck, he had to ask me in front of my sister.

“You should go,” Margaret said from the back of the shop.

“Yeah,” Brad said, eagerly leaping on Margaret’s encouragement. “We can stay right here in the neighborhood. There’s a nice bar maybe two blocks away. No commitments, just a few minutes to relax and unwind.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’d better not.” I walked over to the door and all but opened it. He still didn’t take the hint.

Brad raised his hands in frustration and glanced in Margaret’s direction. “Is it something I said?”

“No … no.” I didn’t want him to think that.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s not you,” Margaret called out. “It’s my sister. She’s afraid.”

I wanted to shout at Margaret to kindly keep her trap shut, but I couldn’t. I much preferred to tell him the truth in some other way and at some other time, but the choice had been taken away from me. Rejecting him over and over again seemed cruel. Although I didn’t want to do it like this, I owed him my honesty.

“I’ve had cancer,” I said bluntly. “Not once, but twice, and furthermore I don’t have a single guarantee that the tumor won’t grow back again and the next time I might not be so fortunate.”

“Cancer?” he repeated and from the shocked look on his face I knew it was the last thing he’d expected me to say.

“The big, ugly scary kind,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “You don’t want to make an emotional investment in me because it might not pay off. That’s the problem with cancer.”

“I … didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t. How could you? I appreciate the offer,” I said again, and I was sincere about that. “In fact, I’m downright flattered. But I’m saving us both a lot of grief, so please just accept my refusal and leave it at that.” I walked away from him and went to the back of the store where I sank down next to my sister.

Margaret glared at me.

I heard the door close as Brad walked out of the shop. “Why did you do that?” my sister demanded.

“Do what?”

“Turn him down! What harm would it’ve done to have a beer with the guy?”

I covered my face with both hands, unwilling to admit that it’d been so long since I’d been on a date, I didn’t know how to act around a man.

“He’s cute and he’s interested.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You said you started this shop as an affirmation of life.”

I nodded. “I did—” Margaret didn’t allow me to finish.

“Then live. Get involved in life, Lydia. You should be thanking your lucky stars a man like that wants to date you. Good grief, what is it with you?”

“I … I …” I was so disconcerted I couldn’t put two words together.

“Live, Lydia,” she said again. “Get out there and find out what life’s all about. And do it before you shrivel up—or die.”

18
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Jacqueline had been a member of the birthday club since joining the Seattle Country Club years ago. Once a month, a group of nine friends got together to celebrate their birthdays. If no one had a birthday that particular month, they celebrated anyway.

For June they chose a Mexican restaurant. While the ambience wasn’t really up to their usual high standards the food was excellent. After the women had finished a leisurely lunch and several margaritas, four of the waiters came to their table wearing large sombreros. It was time to serenade the birthday girl. One of the waiters had a guitar slung over his shoulder. Another brandished a pair of maracas.

“Señoritas, you celebrate a birthday, sí?”

“Sí,” Bev Johnson, president of the women’s group, told him. “It’s Ginny’s birthday.” She pointed across the table at the other woman, who blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.

The man with the guitar strummed a few chords and strolled over to Ginny. “Would you like the long version or the short version?” he asked.

Jacqueline loved to see her normally poised and collected friend flustered by the attention. “By all means the short version.”

All four of the waiters immediately got down on their knees as they sang the traditional birthday song with a definite Mexican flair. The nine women at the table laughed and applauded, Jacqueline included.

She’d needed this outing in order to put Tammie Lee’s pregnancy out of her mind. Despite everything, Paul seemed genuinely in love with his wife; Reese, too, was taken with her. That left Jacqueline feeling like the villain of the piece. But even if Tammie Lee wasn’t quite as manipulative or tasteless as Jacqueline had assumed, she was so obviously wrong for Paul.

After Ginny blew out the candle on her small cake, and passed it around for everyone to taste, the party broke up. Jacqueline was waiting in line to pay the cashier when Bev came to stand beside her.

“I ran into Tammie Lee last week,” the president of the women’s club said.

Jacqueline froze. Bev was the most influential member of the association and she could only imagine what her friend thought of Paul’s wife. Already Jacqueline could feel the heat creep up her neck. She could think of no way to explain her son’s lapse in judgment.

“Haywood said he approved their application to the club.” Haywood was Bev’s husband and in charge of admissions.

“Naturally Reese and I were very pleased they were accepted.” It was gratifying to know that her years of volunteer work with the country club were paying dividends.

“We’ve always liked Paul.”

Jacqueline smiled. Anyone would be impressed with her son. He was charming and intelligent and destined to succeed in life. She had to restrain herself from bragging about his accomplishments.

“I understand Tammie Lee’s going to work on the cookbook committee.”

Jacqueline’s heart fell. She’d hoped to speak privately to the committee chairwoman and suggest that perhaps Tammie Lee might serve more effectively somewhere else. The thought of her daughter-in-law’s recipe for boiled peanuts and cheese grits in the Country Club Cookbook made Jacqueline shudder. What an embarrassment! She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to Louise about that.”

“It’s a stroke of genius,” Bev said.

It was Jacqueline’s turn to pay her lunch tab, and she set the cash on the counter, breathing far too fast. Surely she’d misunderstood Bev. She stepped aside after collecting her change and waited while the other woman paid.

“A stroke of … genius?” Jacqueline repeated as they started out the restaurant door.

“Why, yes. I first met Tammie Lee a few months ago. Haywood and I instantly fell in love with her. She’s a breath of fresh air that our women’s group badly needs. She’s so energetic. Don’t you just love that sweet southern accent of hers? I swear I could listen to her speak all day.”

Jacqueline had to bite her tongue to keep from admitting how irritated she was by Tammie Lee’s twang.

“It’s no wonder Paul fell in love with her. I think Haywood’s halfway there himself.”

“Oh.” Jacqueline wasn’t sure how to respond.

“The committee puts out a cookbook every two years and it’s always the same people and the same recipes. Just how many recipes for Cranberry Mold do we need?”

Jacqueline refrained from mentioning that she’d been the one to submit the gelatin recipe, which had long been a club favorite.

“Tammie Lee had some wonderful ideas, and frankly I’m thinking of asking her to chair the committee. Louise has done it for several years and she’s ready to try her hand at something else.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Jacqueline could no longer remain silent. She respected Bev’s opinion, but in this case her friend was wrong. Tammie Lee would be an embarrassment to them all.

“I know, of course, that with a baby due in the next few months, I can’t ask her to take on any additional responsibility,” Bev said as she neared the parking lot. Her convertible BMW was parked next to Jacqueline’s Mercedes. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. Paul would never forgive me, although I think Tammie Lee’s a natural.”

“Yes, yes, she’s going to have her hands full,” Jacqueline agreed and stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to move while Bev climbed into her car and drove off. Had the entire world gone mad? Jacqueline wondered. Was she the only one who recognized Tammie Lee as the insincere little manipulator she was?

Her thoughts troubled, Jacqueline pulled into the garage at home and was astonished to realize she couldn’t remember driving there. One moment she was in the restaurant parking lot and the next she was in her own garage.

Another surprise awaited her when she found Reese in the kitchen. He was dressed in one of his best suits and either he was home early or ready to take his blonde out for the evening. Jacqueline didn’t ask. She’d rather not know than have to hear him lie.

She put away her purse and glanced at the mail, paying special attention to the sale flyers. When she’d finished, she walked over to the liquor cabinet and reached for a bottle of gin. “Want one?”

“I’m driving.”

Jacqueline shrugged. “I’m not.” The margaritas had long since worn off.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

Reese frowned. “I’ve never known you to drink this early in the afternoon.”

“Some occasions call for it.” She turned around to study this man with whom she’d spent most of her life. She knew him so well—and yet she didn’t know him at all.

“Where were you?” he asked.

She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or making small talk. Jacqueline found it curious that he was questioning her whereabouts; he’d done that a few times recently but she had no idea why.

“Out with the girls. For our monthly birthday lunch.”

“You might invite Tammie Lee on one of your outings sometime.”

He had to be joking. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she’s your daughter-in-law and it would be one way of welcoming her into the family.”

“I refuse to be a hypocrite. She isn’t welcome. She’s tolerated and frankly even that’s becoming difficult.” If one more person sang her daughter-in-law’s praises, Jacqueline swore she was going to scream. “Why does everyone think Tammie Lee’s so terrific? I don’t get it.”

Reese stared at her for a long moment. “Have you ever asked yourself why Paul fell in love with her?” His voice was cool and controlled, which usually indicated that he was curbing his anger.

“Of course I understand why Paul married her. He was ruled by hormones instead of common sense.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Reese shouted, slapping his palm against the kitchen counter.

Jacqueline nearly leaped out of her skin at her husband’s uncharacteristic display of temper.

“Tammie Lee is loving and caring and generous. The only person who doesn’t see it is you and only because you’re so blinded by your own agenda for our son you refuse to open your eyes.”

Jacqueline stared at him. “Are you suggesting I’m a cold, selfish bitch, Reese?” How dare he speak that way to her!

It looked as if he meant to leave without any kind of response, but apparently he changed his mind. “Perhaps you should answer that question yourself,” he said.

Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

19
CHAPTER

“Handknitting is a soothing and comforting means of creative expression that can result in a warm, useful and lovingly knitted garment … what a bonus.”

—Meg Swansen, Schoolhouse Press

LYDIA HOFFMAN

The three women in my knitting class sat around the table, eager for the last scheduled lesson. Before I could start, however, Jacqueline spoke up.

“I’d like to let everyone know I’ve decided against returning for the new session.” She meant our knitting “support group,” for which I charged five dollars a week.

No one made any protest, so I felt I should say something. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jacqueline.” I was, and my feelings weren’t entirely mercenary, although I knew if she stayed, Jacqueline would be inclined to purchase the higher-end yarns.

“I’m not,” Alix said without so much as a second’s hesitation.

“I didn’t expect anything different from you,” Jacqueline muttered, not hiding her scorn.

Truth be known, I was just as glad not to be stuck refereeing those two, although it did make for an amusing moment now and then. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two women who disliked each other more intensely. I’d believed that their animosity had lessened in the past few weeks, but apparently I’d read the situation completely wrong. Once again, my lack of experience when it came to relationships was showing.

Jacqueline was difficult to know—and to like. I did give her credit, though; she’d made a genuine effort to learn to knit and had nearly completed the baby blanket she was making for her first grandchild.

“I felt I should attend the last class and tell everyone what I’d decided.”

“Like we’d care,” Alix mumbled under her breath.

Standing behind Alix, I placed my hand on her shoulder as a way of asking her to keep her comments to herself. Through the last six weeks, I’d discovered that for all her crusty exterior the girl was actually quite sensitive. Even a hint of criticism was enough to make her withdraw.

“I don’t think I could stop knitting now if I wanted to,” Carol said. She was working on a sweater for her brother. The cashmere yarn was the most expensive in the shop and she’d bought it in a creamy gray.

“I’m going to continue, too,” Alix said, glaring across the table at Jacqueline as if to suggest the older woman lacked willpower. “I’m gonna get this blanket right no matter what it takes.”

I had to admire Alix’s determination. She was still rather clumsy in her handling of the yarn and needles, but she refused to give up. I suspect she undid as many rows as she knit in the first few weeks. Thankfully, she’d learned what she was doing wrong and was progressing nicely. Her biggest hindrance was lack of time.

“Are you saying I’m a quitter?” Jacqueline asked, challenging Alix.

“If the fancy shoe fits, then walk in it. It’s no biggie, right? You certainly won’t be missed by me.”

Jacqueline and Alix’s constant bickering wore on my nerves. But before I could react, Carol leaped in.

“I have news,” she said in a blatant effort to change the subject. I was grateful to her.

“Oh, good.” I didn’t bother to hide the relief in my voice.

“Monday morning Doug’s taking me in for the last IVF attempt.”

Although she presented a cheerful facade, I sensed—and I’m sure the others did, too—a deep-seated fear. I hoped everything would work this time and Carol would carry the pregnancy full-term. She’d been going in for regular appointments, although she hadn’t given us details. She’d talked briefly to the group about her fertility problems and a bit more to me privately, but not much. My heart ached for her.

To my surprise, it was Jacqueline who spoke first. “Oh, my dear, I certainly wish you success. Reese and I only had the one child and we longed for a second.”

“At this point Doug and I would be ecstatic with just one.” Her smile trembled.

“I so wished for a daughter.”

“Didn’t you mention that your son and his wife are having a girl?” I seemed to remember that from an earlier conversation with Jacqueline.

“Yes.”

Jacqueline had been suspiciously quiet about her son and Tammie Lee lately. It made me wonder if something had happened that she preferred not to discuss. With her it was hard to tell. While Carol and Alix had grown comfortable with each other, Jacqueline remained emotionally distant. I had the impression that the only women she allowed into her life were her country club friends.

Alix kept her head lowered and concentrated on her knitting. “I think only people who really want kids should have them.” She’d said something similar to this earlier, I recalled. She seemed to have strong feelings about it. I could only assume that was because of her own experience.

“I do, too,” Carol agreed. “What I don’t understand is why so many couples who love children seem to have such difficulty getting pregnant. When I think back on all the years I put off having a family, I want to weep. I thought I had lots of time, but how was I to know?” A pained look came over her.

“What about you?” Alix asked, glancing in my direction.

I was sure my face went scarlet, although why the subject of children should bother me, I don’t know. In response I shook my head.

“What?” Alix demanded. “You don’t want kids?”

“I’m not married.”

“That didn’t worry my mother. She was six months pregnant with my brother before she got around to marrying my father. It was the worst mistake of her life, she claims, but that didn’t stop her from having me.”

“A child can’t be blamed for the circumstances of his or her birth,” Carol said.

“Yeah, well, that’s not the way I heard it.” Alix jerked viciously on the ball of yarn. “It’s no big deal. I survived.”

“Surely a lovely young woman like you will marry one day,” Jacqueline said, directing the comment at me.

Jacqueline had a tendency to catch me off guard once in a while. Only moments earlier she’d expressed compassion and understanding for Carol, and her comment about me being lovely—well, that was an unexpected compliment.

“Thank you, but …” I let the rest fade. I’d rather not reveal the details of my life if I can help it.

“But what?” Carol pressed.

“But—well, I don’t think I’d make a very good wife.”

“Why not?” Alix again. “You’d sure as hell be a better wife than my mother ever was.”

This conversation was fast becoming uncomfortable. “Husbands have … expectations.”

Alix looked up with a puzzled frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I could see the other two were equally curious. “I’ve already gone through two bouts of cancer. It’s possible that our family has a predisposition to it.”

“Do you have it now?”

“No, thank God, but my older sister had a recent scare.” Thankfully Margaret’s second mammogram had been clear. I’d gone to the doctor’s office with her and given her the support she needed. Afterward she’d invited me to lunch to celebrate the results.

This was the closest I’d felt to my sister since I was a teenager. Perverse as it sounds, I’m grateful for the alarm that initial mammogram caused. For the first time in years, my sister and I had something in common—fear. And for the first time ever, I was the one who had the greater knowledge … and the authority of personal experience.

“Why can’t you get married?” Alix asked.

I sighed. I really didn’t want to get into this. “There’s no guarantee the cancer won’t come back,” I said simply.

I discovered all three women staring at me with blank expressions.

“In case you haven’t noticed, life doesn’t exactly come with guarantees,” Alix said. “I should know about that.”

“If it did, I’d be a mother by now,” Carol added.

“She’s right,” Jacqueline said, gesturing toward Carol.

My sister had been saying the same thing. Our lunch had gone well until she’d mentioned Brad. I hadn’t seen the UPS guy for several days and as far as I was concerned, the question of my dating him was a moot point. After two rejections, I doubted he’d ask me out again. Really, why should he? I’d made it plain that I wasn’t interested.

“I haven’t been on a date in so long, I’m not sure how to act,” I told my friends. It was the truth.

“You just act normal,” Carol said as if that was understood.

“Just be yourself,” Jacqueline threw in. To my astonishment, she drew out her knitting. I’d had the impression earlier that she intended to make her big announcement and leave. I was glad to see her join the others.

“Hey, do you have the hots for some guy?”

Naturally Alix would ask such a question. “Of course not.” My denial was fast and firm. Once again, the heat in my face reflected my embarrassment.

“You do so,” Carol said, watching me. She laughed softly. “All right, give. Who is he?”

I shook my head, refusing to answer. “It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.” Jacqueline leaned toward me.

“Tell us the name,” Alix encouraged.

They wouldn’t drop the matter and I could think of nothing to say or do that would take the conversation elsewhere.

“Come on, Lydia,” Alix insisted again. “Tell us.”

I hesitated, then with a deep sigh told them about Brad. “He won’t ask me out again,” I said when I’d finished.

“Probably not,” Alix agreed. “What you have to do now is ask him out.”

Both Jacqueline and Carol nodded. It seemed Brad had won Margaret to his side and now my entire knitting class, too.

20
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Sunday night before the IVF procedure, Carol waited until she was sure Doug had fallen asleep. When she heard the heavy, even cadence of his breathing, she slipped out of bed and crept silently into the living room.

She loved the view of Puget Sound at night. From her living room window, she could see the dark, shimmering water. Beyond West Seattle was Vashon Island and the lights of the Kitsap Peninsula.

Sinking into her favorite chair, she dropped her head back and ordered her mind and her body to relax. She couldn’t go into this procedure tense; she had to will her body to accept the fertilized eggs, to accept the baby or babies she yearned for.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. If she wanted a child so much, then why did her body reject pregnancy after pregnancy? Nothing added up, nothing made sense, no matter how often she tried to analyze the situation.

Her own body had become her worst enemy, it seemed; her womb had betrayed her in the most fundamental way, by denying her the ability to reproduce. She was fast approaching a time when her age would make it impossible to conceive. Already her egg production had started to fall off.

While outwardly everyone was sympathetic, Carol knew her friends were bored with the subject. She also knew how badly her mother wanted grandchildren. All her mother’s friends carried around purseloads of pictures of their grandkids, while her own mother sat by, silent and depressed. Neither Carol nor Rick had given her bragging rights. She said it jokingly, but Carol felt her mother’s disappointment as keenly as she felt her own.

To this point, Doug’s parents had been supportive and encouraging, but they too were weary of waiting. Thankfully, his younger sister had made them grandparents twice over, but his father was hoping for a grandson to carry on the family name. The pressure wasn’t explicit but it was there and Carol nearly suffocated under the weight of it.

Tears filled her eyes. Never in all her life had she wept as much as she had in these last few years. Before long, she had a thick wad of tissues in her hand.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. She’d submitted to every therapy available and ingested a pharmacy full of drugs. All those drugs. God only knew what she’d done to her body or what risks she’d taken, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing mattered except having a baby. She was willing to swallow anything, inject her stomach with drugs, volunteer for any experimental program, if there was even the slightest possibility it would help her get pregnant—and stay pregnant.

“What are you doing out here?” Doug came into the room wearing striped pajama bottoms and no top; it was how he always slept. He sat down across from her. “What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?”

Afraid that he might hear the tears in her voice, she shook her head.

He didn’t say anything and they sat together in silence. After a few minutes, her husband stood up and stretched out his arm to her and pulled her into his embrace.

“You should try to sleep,” he said.

“I know.”

He didn’t try to lead her back to bed and she was grateful.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I don’t think I can sleep without you.”

She smiled, comforted by the knowledge that she was as much a part of him as he was of her.

A ferry glided toward Vashon Island and Carol forced her attention onto its slow progress from Fauntleroy to Southworth. The terrible tension returned and she had to ask the one question that had hounded her for months. “What are we going to do if I don’t get pregnant this time?” Her words came out a broken whisper. “Adopt?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“I can’t wait. I need to know now.”

“Why?”

“What if the adoption agencies decide we aren’t fit parents? What if we can’t get an infant the way we want? What … what if the IVF fails again? Oh, Doug, I shouldn’t think like that and yet I can’t stop myself.”

Doug’s sigh rumbled from deep within his chest. “Then don’t think like that. If the IVF fails, we’ll adopt and if we aren’t accepted by the agency, then we won’t have children. Other couples have survived and we will, too.”

“No … we won’t.”

“Carol.”

“It might be all right between us for a while, but then one day you’ll look at some little boy or girl and—” The lump in her throat made it impossible to continue.

Doug didn’t try to deny it. “Don’t say that.”

She gave a helpless shrug.

“What makes you think we won’t be able to adopt? Other couples our age adopt. Why can’t we?”

“Because we’re too late.”

“Too late? Why is it too late?”

“Because the waiting lists are years long. By the time they get to our name, we’ll be in our midforties.”

“You’re erecting roadblocks where there aren’t any.”

Carol couldn’t respond. Her misery was too great. It was easy for Doug to say she was agonizing over nonexistent problems; it wasn’t his body that failed them month after month.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Doug said.

“Don’t say that,” she cried.

“Carol, stop it. You’re getting hysterical.”

“I’m hysterical and frightened and depressed and—”

“Defeated. Why go through with the procedure if you’ve already decided it isn’t going to work?”

“Because I have to know.”

“You want to know that you can’t get pregnant?” he asked gently.

Doug thought he was helping but he wasn’t. In fact, he was making everything worse. “Just leave me alone.”

“Carol, for heaven’s sake …”

“I don’t want you here. I need some time by myself.” It was like this with the drugs, these wild mood swings. They’d been warned; nevertheless, Carol was caught unprepared.

Doug stood up and walked over to the window. Gazing into the moonlit night, he rubbed his hand over his face as though considering his options. “I don’t think I should leave you alone.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“Please just go.”

“You need me.”

“Not now … I need to be by myself.”

“Carol …” He turned toward her.

“Please, Doug.”

He hesitated and then reluctantly walked into the bedroom.

As soon as he was gone, Carol wanted him back. She wanted him to take her in his arms and reassure her of his love. She wanted him to tell her he’d love her to the end of time, with or without a child.

Closing her eyes, she fought off the ugly negative voices that harassed her from all sides and tried to think positive thoughts. It was a technique she’d learned from her online support group—creating the image of what you want and seeing it in such clear detail that you begin to accept the possibility … the reality.

She pictured herself pregnant, her stomach extended, wearing a cheerful maternity top. Doug’s hands rested on her tummy and he bent over and kissed her belly. When he straightened, his eyes were full of love and pride. That was the image she held on to, the picture she framed in her mind. She refused to let her doubts defeat her.

At some point during the night, she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. Before dawn, she stirred and climbed back into bed. Pressing her body against Doug’s, she cuddled him close and draped her arm across his waist.

When she woke again, Doug was cuddling her. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

“I am now.” She groaned and rolled onto her back.

“What time did you come to bed?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t look.”

He nibbled on her ear. “Do you feel better?”

She managed a soft smile. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She could hear coffee brewing in the background. “Is it time to get up already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She struggled into a sitting position and offered Doug a tired smile.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he asked.

He told her in a thousand different ways. “Yup,” she said in the middle of a loud yawn.

“This is a very important day, you know,” Doug said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I do know,” Carol whispered. This was the day she’d welcome Doug’s child into her womb.

21
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix stepped outside the video store and lit up a cigarette. She was cutting back, but giving up smoking was difficult. Taking a long drag, she savored the immediate soothing effect and exhaled, tilting her head upward. It was when she started to take a second puff that she noticed Jordan Turner walking down the opposite side of the street. A sense of dread filled her; she didn’t want to talk to him.

What was the point? He obviously wasn’t interested in her. Oh sure, she amused him, but he saw her as a leftover challenge from the sixth grade—the girl he wanted to save. Another notch in his ministerial belt. Preachers couldn’t accept that Alix wasn’t looking for salvation. Oh, sure she’d ridden the church bus to Sunday School. Her parents would’ve been willing to let her go anywhere if it meant she was out of their hair for an hour or two. She’d done the Jesus thing at ten and eleven, but it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Been there, done that, and been awarded the prize Bible for memorizing scripture.

She’d been on her own since she was sixteen and one of the hardest lessons life had taught her was that the only person she could rely on was herself. It wasn’t a lesson she was likely to forget.

Crushing out her half-smoked cigarette, Alix went back inside the store, hoping Jordan would take the hint and leave her alone.

“That was quick,” Laurel muttered as Alix joined her behind the counter.

“I’m going into the back room.”

Laurel frowned. “Why?”

“If you-know-who comes in, tell him I’m not working tonight.”

“Are you still avoiding Jordan?”

“Just do it,” Alix snapped and hurried to the back of the store before the preacher man caught up with her. It’d been two weeks since they’d bumped into each other at Starbucks and he’d dropped his bomb. The explosion still reverberated in her ears. Jordan was a minister—and she wanted nothing to do with him or his God.

No more than a minute later, Laurel appeared, and she didn’t look any too pleased. “He saw you.”

Alix whirled around. “Then tell him I’m busy.”

“I already tried that.”

This was getting irritating. “So tell him something else. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“You can’t hide forever.”

“I’m not hiding,” Alix insisted, which was a pretty weak argument.

“Do what you want,” Laurel said. “But he told me he was going to wait until you came out.” With that, her roommate and supposed friend returned to the front of the store.

Alix waited an agonizing ten minutes and figured that by then Jordan would’ve given up on her. No such luck. Arms crossed, he stood by the microwave popcorn display next to the cash register. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.

Rather than try to avoid him anymore, she strolled purposely toward Jordan. “You don’t take a hint, do you?” she asked bluntly.

“Not easily,” he admitted. “Let’s talk.”

“I can’t.” She’d already squandered her fifteen-minute break and that was her last of the evening. The video store wasn’t doing a robust business, but they were busy enough.

“Meet me after work.”

Alix shrugged. She might as well get this over with. “All right.”

“Your word is good?”

The challenge in his voice offended her sense of pride. “Damn straight it is! I’ll be at Starbucks ten minutes after closing.”

“Make it Annie’s Café.”

“Fine, Annie’s.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

It could’ve been Alix’s imagination, but she thought she saw Jordan wink at Laurel on his way out the door. She wondered what the hell that was about and then decided it didn’t matter. If he was interested in her friend, then fine. She hoped the two of them would be very happy. Jordan was a damn sight better than that slimy used-car salesman.

Only Alix did care, and she was in a bitch of a mood for the rest of her shift. By eleven o’clock Laurel was no longer speaking to her and left in a huff. Alix was just as glad to be rid of her.

Exactly ten minutes after closing out the till, locking up the store and making the deposit, Alix walked into Annie’s. The café was half a block down from the video store. As a treat every payday, Alix bought herself dinner there. The food was good, plentiful and cheap.

Jordan was in a booth reading the menu when she approached. She scowled at him and said, “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Yeah? And your point is?”

“I don’t have to be here.”

He raised his eyebrows. “True, but I figure you owe me an explanation as to why you ditched me in sixth grade.”

“I didn’t ditch you. I … I got caught up in circumstances beyond my control.”

“All right, but consider it common courtesy to explain what happened.”

He’d obviously been taught etiquette. She, on the other hand, didn’t know anything about it.

“Listen,” she said aggressively, “we can spend the rest of the evening arguing about something that happened in grade school or we can talk. You decide.”

It was all too apparent that Jordan intended to pester her until he got the answers he wanted. She’d already decided she’d rather not get involved with a minister, but he was making that difficult. Frowning, she slid into the booth across from him.

“What’s wrong, Alix?” Jordan asked.

This was an interesting approach but before she could answer, the waitress appeared. Alix knew Jenny, who worked swing shift, and she watched as the older woman glanced between them, not bothering to hide her surprise.

Folding over the top sheet of her pad, Jenny asked, “What can I get you two?”

Jordan closed the plastic-coated menu. “I’m thinking about a bacon cheeseburger with the works.” Then he looked at Alix. “How about you?”

Her mouth watered at the thought of one of Annie’s mammoth cheeseburgers. But first she had to find out who was paying for it. “You buying? Or am I getting my own?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

Alix tucked the menu behind the sugar canister. “I’ll have the same.”

“Two bacon cheeseburgers,” Jordan said. “And two Cokes.” He gave Alix a questioning smile and she nodded.

Jenny wrote down the order and left.

As soon as the waitress was gone, Jordan rested his hands on the table. “So,” he began.

Squarely meeting his gaze, Alix sighed heavily. “So I’m not interested in church,” she said.

“Why not?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the church-going kind.”

“And what kind is that?”

Alix rolled her eyes. “Ladies who wear hats and gloves and exchange polite conversation with a few ‘praise the Lords’ thrown in.”

Jordan’s head reared back and he snorted with laughter. “You’re describing a garden party, not church. I can tell you haven’t attended in a while.”

“I went to Sunday School back in grade school but skipped the church part,” she told him. The truth was, she’d gone a few times but left early, bored by all the preaching. “Like I said, I’m not interested.”

Jenny brought their Cokes and Jordan waited impatiently before he responded.

“How do you know?” he burst out when she was gone.

“Jordan, I think you’re great.” She took a long sip of her drink. “I remember your dad and he was nice, too.” Jordan’s father had come to the house once to talk to her mother, after Alix had been awarded that prize Bible. It was the one and only time he’d stopped by, and she didn’t blame him for never visiting again.

“How do you know you’re not interested in church unless you try it? Why don’t you come one Sunday and see?”

“Listen,” Alix said, trying to be as honest as possible. “I don’t need anyone to save me.”

He frowned. “So that’s what you think?”

“Damn straight.”

“You’ve certainly got me figured out,” he said, a little sarcastically.

Being rude was natural for her, but she was determined to keep the peace until after she’d eaten the cheeseburger. After all, he was paying for it. And she was hungry.

“Why is it so important for me to go to church?” she demanded, and then answered for him. “It’s because you want to change me.”

“No,” he argued. “I want to see you.”

Sure he did!

“I liked you in sixth grade and I like you now. Do I need an excuse?” He leaned across the table, unwilling to break eye contact.

“I’m not your type.”

“Did you decide that on your own, or did someone else make up your mind for you?”

She bristled at his question. “I make up my own mind.”

She could see he was growing angry. His hand clenched the silverware wrapped in a paper napkin. “Let me see if I understand you. I was all right to hang with until you found out I’m someone you knew ten or twelve years ago—who just happens to be a minister?”

Alix lowered her eyes and refused to answer.

“You liked me just fine in grade school, and now you don’t?”

That bacon cheeseburger had better show up fast, because holding her tongue was damn difficult. Alix bit the inside of her lip.

“The least you can do is answer me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she snapped. “That it doesn’t matter? Well, it does.”

“What changed?”

She opened her mouth and then faltered, unsure of herself. “You’re … You’re …” She gestured toward him, making circular motions with her hands. “You’re … good.”

“Good?” Jordan repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

She folded her arms and searched with growing desperation for Jenny. It never took this long for an order to come up. Her stomach growled and reminded her it’d been midafternoon since her latte and she was hungry. As soon as her meal arrived, she could say what she wanted and take her cheeseburger home. Only he was confusing her. All she could think about was how badly she’d wanted to attend that valentine party. She hadn’t told him, but she’d had a valentine for him, too.

“You know what I mean,” she challenged.

“No, I don’t,” Jordan said, “so you’d better explain it to me. What the hell makes me good?”

She blinked and realized he was serious. “God,” she whispered.

His expression went blank. “God?”

She nodded. “You’re this lily-white guy who grew up with a perfect family. I didn’t. You had parents who loved you. I didn’t. You—”

“None of that’s relevant,” he countered, cutting her off.

“My mother did jail time for shooting my father. Did you know that?”

He nodded slowly. “There was plenty of talk about it, but all I wanted to know was what had happened to you.”

“Oh.” This was unexpected.

Alix nearly sighed in relief when Jenny appeared with two plates. The cheeseburger was left open and the cheese had melted perfectly. The French fries glistened and sizzled, fresh from the fryer. Her mouth watered just looking at her meal.

“I asked my dad to find out where you were. He tried, but didn’t get anywhere. Apparently you and your brother had already been sent to foster homes in another part of the city,” Jordan said.

Alix reached for the salt shaker but her eyes didn’t leave his the whole time she salted her fries. “You did?”

He nodded and picked up a fry.

Hungry though she was, Alix hadn’t touched her food. “What made you decide to go into the ministry? Like father, like son?”

“That’s a story for another night.” He added lettuce and a slice of tomato to his burger and closed it before taking his first bite.

Alix bit into her burger, too. “Just remember I don’t need you to save me,” she said, still chewing.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

She swallowed and drank some more of her Coke.

“Why not?”

“It’s not what I do. I leave the salvation up to God. He saves, I just point the way.” He took another fry, dipping it into a small pool of ketchup he’d squirted onto his plate.

She still didn’t trust him. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s to get?”

“You,” she said. “Wanting to see me.”

He cast her a strange look. “Is there some law that says I’m not supposed to be attracted to you? I liked you in sixth grade and I still think you’re kinda cute.”

He liked her? He thought she was cute? “You do?” she asked and was mortified by the slight quiver in her voice.

“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t.” He stretched out his hand and stole one of her French fries.

“Hey.” She slapped his hand.

He laughed and gave her his sliced pickle.

They finished eating, talked about movies they’d both seen and then left the café an hour later. “Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Jordan asked.

Alix figured she’d play it cool. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Decide soon, will you?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how much longer I can afford to rent movies.” Alix laughed.

“You coming to church on Sunday?” he asked.

“Probably not.” She didn’t see herself sitting next to any church lady with sagging panty hose and a big purse. Jordan might want her to show up, but she didn’t think those goody-goody types would take kindly to her purple-tinted hair.

Church was for people who had regular lives and who had goals and dreams. Okay, Alix had dreams, too, but damn little chance of ever seeing them come to life. She wanted to be a chef. Not just a cook, but a real chef in some fancy restaurant. She’d worked in a couple of cafés like Annie’s over the years and always liked the kitchen jobs best. The last place she’d worked—before the video store—had closed down, but working there had set the dream in place.

She suspected he was laughing at her. Before she knew what he intended, he pulled her into the shadows of the alley and backed her up against the brick wall.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither breathing, neither saying anything.

Then his mouth was on hers, and it was all she could do not to crumple at the effect of his kiss. Her head started to spin and her knees actually went weak. The only thing left to do was hold on to him, so she wrapped her arms around Jordan’s neck. From there, her senses took her on a roller-coaster ride more exciting than anything Disney had to offer.

“What was that for?” she asked, her voice sounding like something rattling around in a tin can.

When Jordan finally lifted his head, he whispered. “I figured you owed me that because I had my heart broken in sixth grade.”

Alix moistened her lips. “Yeah … well, you weren’t the only one.”

22
CHAPTER

“In the hands of a knitter, yarn becomes the medium that binds the heart and soul.”

—Robin Villiers-Furze, The Needleworks Company, Port Orchard, Washington

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Another Friday had come to an end. The knitting session was one of the best ever, with Alix laughing a lot and Jacqueline more relaxed and tolerant than I’d ever seen her. Carol was at home—doctor’s orders. By the time I turned over the closed sign on the shop door and headed upstairs to my apartment, I was exhausted. But this was a good kind of tired. When I first opened A Good Yarn, I’d had plenty of empty hours to work on my own projects.

Not anymore. I had a continuous stream of customers and I was intermittently busy most days. I needed to thank Jacqueline the next time I saw her. She’d spread the word about the store, and two of her affluent friends had recently stopped by. Despite all her threats to quit the class, she showed up each and every Friday. And Jacqueline’s country club friends had purchased four hundred dollars’ worth of yarn. With big sales like these I didn’t need to worry about making the rent payment, which was one of my biggest concerns when I opened my door.

I wasn’t actually earning enough to pay myself a real salary yet, but I was managing the rent and after less than three months in business, that excited me. My strategy was to live simply and believe in myself.

When I arrived upstairs, I left the smaller windows in the living room open. A gentle breeze filtered through. Whiskers was all over me, weaving between my feet in an effort to attract my undivided attention. I love my cat and he’s excellent company, but there are days I’d like a few moments to myself to unwind. Whiskers’s demands come first, however.

I opened a can of his favorite tuna and set it down. He’s terribly spoiled, but I can’t help it. While Whiskers chowed down on dinner, I sorted through the day’s mail and came upon an envelope with a familiar scrawl. Margaret.

I hesitated before I tore it open. Inside were two thank-you notes, one from each of my nieces, thanking me for the sweaters I’d recently knit. It was the first time they’d formally acknowledged my gifts. In the past I’d often suspected Margaret hadn’t given them the things I made them.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have reacted by phoning my sister. Except that our strained relationship showed recent signs of improvement, and I was feeling encouraged. Before I could change my mind, I punched out her telephone number.

At the first ring, I nearly did change my mind and hang up. But I knew she had Caller ID and would immediately contact me and ask why I’d phoned.

Hailey answered on the second ring.

“I got your thank-you note,” I told her.

“Mom said we should write you, but I would have anyway. It’s a cool sweater, Aunt Lydia. I love the colors.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I’d chosen a lime-green yarn and accented the cuffs and button bands with bright orange. It turned out to be really cute, even if I do say so myself.

“Mom’s here,” Hailey said and before I could tell her it wasn’t necessary to interrupt Margaret, my sister was on the line.

“Is everything all right?” she demanded in that gruff unfriendly tone she holds in reserve for me.

“Of course,” I assured her. “I got the note from the girls today and I—”

“You only ever phone if something’s wrong.”

That was categorically untrue but I didn’t want to argue with her. Normally I avoided calling Margaret because the experience was so often unsettling.

“I’m fine, really.” I tried to laugh but it sounded phony.

“Have you seen that handsome UPS driver lately?”

I could feel my face heat up at the mention of Brad. I hadn’t phoned her to talk about him. “He was by the other day.” Instantly I tried to think of something to distract her from the subject of Brad Goetz, and couldn’t.

The UPS driver was as friendly as ever but he no longer asked me out. He knew about my cancer now, and that explained it. I was grateful he didn’t force me to invent plausible-sounding excuses. But when he’d left after his most recent visit, I’d experienced a twinge of regret. That slight but unmistakable sense of loss stayed with me the rest of the afternoon.

“Did you suggest the two of you get together?” Margaret pressed.

“No. I …” That was all I got out before my sister cut me off.

“Why not?”

“I—”

“You keep telling me this shop of yours is an affirmation of life.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“Well, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is.”

It distressed me that my sister seemed to enjoy harassing me. “It’s my life, Margaret.”

“Life?” She said it scornfully. “What life? All you do is work and knit, which is your work. Oh sure, you visit Mom and have a couple of friends, but—”

It was my turn to cut her off. “I make my own decisions about the men I date.”

Margaret acted as if she hadn’t heard me. “Ask him out for a beer,” she insisted.

“No!”

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure why I was so adamant. “Because …”

“You’re afraid.”

“All right, I’m afraid,” I almost shouted, “but that doesn’t change anything.”

“Get over it.”

“Oh, Margaret, you make everything seem so easy.”

“Ask him out and don’t call me again until you do.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe she’d say anything like that to me.

“Dead serious.” She disconnected the phone.

I stared at the receiver a full minute before I stepped away. Margaret could be so dictatorial. My own sister refused to speak to me until I contacted a man she’d only seen once, and briefly at that? Well, she could forget it; I wasn’t giving in. That decided, I went to find something decent for dinner.

Because I feel diet is so important in maintaining a healthy body, I avoid processed foods as much as possible. On occasion I microwave a frozen entrée, but only rarely. I did that evening, however, because my head was spinning. Margaret had said I should invite Brad out for a drink. Okay, so maybe she had my best interests at heart. Maybe, just maybe she was right, and it was time for me to throw caution to the winds. The women in my knitting class seemed to think so, too. But I had no idea how.

At nine, I phoned her back.

Knowing my sister, I half expected her to slam down the receiver but I didn’t give her the chance. “What do I say?” I asked. “I’ve already turned him down twice. Now that he knows I’ve had cancer, he probably isn’t interested. He might tell me no.”

“He might. And I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” I muttered under my breath and to my surprise Margaret laughed. Generally not even a stand-up comic can get a response out of my sister. She’s one of those deadpan women born without a funny bone. I had no idea I was so amusing.

“I mean it,” I said.

“You’re actually asking me for help?”

“Yes. If you refuse to talk to me until I make a fool of myself over a man, then the least you can do is tell me how to go about it.”

That shut her up, but not for long.

“Tell him you’ve had a change of heart.”

“Okay.” My voice must have betrayed my lack of confidence.

“Then tell him you think it might be nice for the two of you to have a beer one night if he’s still interested. Offer to buy and then leave the ball in his court.”

That sounded reasonable.

“Are you going to do it?” Margaret asked.

I leaned against the wall, fiddling with my hair. “Yeah,” I said, “I think I will.”

I sounded brave on Friday night, but by Monday morning it was a different story. It would’ve been easier if Brad had come with a delivery later in the week, but he didn’t. As luck would have it, he showed up Monday afternoon when I wasn’t expecting him.

“Hi,” I said. “I don’t usually see you on Mondays.” Now that was a clever remark, I thought with disgust, especially since I’m officially closed on Mondays.

“Not usually,” he said, wheeling the stack of boxes over to the cash register. “How are you doing?”

“Great.” Instantly my mouth went completely dry.

Brad handed me the computerized clipboard, just the way he always did, so I could sign my name. I looked at it as if I’d never seen it before.

“I need a signature,” he said.

Thankfully I was able to manage that much. I glanced down long enough to finish the task and returned the clipboard. Brad smiled and headed out the door.

“Brad,” I called out.

He looked back.

I came out from behind the counter and walked toward him. My mind whirled with everything Margaret had suggested I say and in my eagerness, the words rushed out, stumbling all over themselves. “I’ve had a change of heart, that is, if you’re still interested. If you aren’t, I understand perfectly, and I’m making a complete idiot of myself, and … and let’s have a beer one night. Oh, and I’ll buy. Margaret said I should buy and—”

His eyes widened as he held up one hand. “Whoa.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

“Now start over at the beginning, only slower this time.”

I was convinced my face was brighter than any fire truck in Seattle. “I’ve reconsidered your invitation to meet for a drink after work.”

A smile appeared on his face and I could tell he was pleased. “I’d enjoy that.”

A warm feeling replaced the chill that had left my teeth chattering. “Good.”

“How about Friday night after you close the shop?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

He reached for the cart, whistling on his way back to the truck. A few minutes after he left, I realized I was humming. I had a date!

Hot damn. I had a date. Just wait until Margaret heard about this.

23
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Jacqueline had her day all planned. She had a nail appointment at nine, followed by lunch with her friends, then major shopping, a few necessary errands and finally home. Tuesday was her busiest day of the week; she arranged it that way on purpose. Preoccupation was the key to forgetting that her husband would be spending part of the night with another woman.

While she was at the mall, she’d make sure she was justly rewarded for turning the other way, although she still had to grit her teeth every time she thought about it.

Just minutes before she planned to leave for the nail salon, the phone rang. For half a moment, she was tempted to ignore it, but then she saw that it was Reese’s cell. Reluctantly she picked up the receiver.

“I need a favor,” her husband said urgently. “I’m in a meeting and I forgot my briefcase at the house.”

“Do you want me to drop it off?” It would mean she’d be late for her nail appointment, but Reese wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. She intended to spend a good deal of his money that afternoon, so the least she could do was accommodate him.

“Would you, Jacquie? I’d come back for it, but I need it ASAP.”

“I’m on my way.”

He told her where to find it near his desk in the den. Jacqueline went in there and found the briefcase just where he’d said it would be. The den was in Reese’s section of the house and she rarely ventured inside. For a moment, she lingered, trailing her fingers over the perfectly aligned books on the mahogany shelves. On rare occasions Reese smoked a cigar and the scent of rich tobacco and leather was more prominent in this room than anywhere else in the house.

A sense of nostalgia filled her and a longing she could hardly explain. She felt a dull ache as she remembered the love they’d somehow let slip away. The love of their early years … She never allowed herself to acknowledge the isolation they’d forced upon each other. She did now, and the sadness settled over her like a heavy rain-drenched coat.

It was hard to figure out precisely when it’d happened to them or why. His Tuesday-night mistress was a symptom of their alienation, not a cause. They were already drifting apart when she’d entered the scene. Slowly, through the years, Jacqueline and Reese had lost that closeness. They were both at fault; Reese was stubborn—but so was she.

Their marriage had eroded to the point that they were roommates more than partners, friends more than lovers. It happened to many couples—she’d heard enough veiled hints and outright confessions from other women to be aware of that. Still, it didn’t lessen her feelings of acute loss. Putting aside her thoughts, she reached for the briefcase and hurried to the garage.

Jacqueline phoned the nail salon from her car as she headed directly to Blossom Street. The renovations were going well, although parking was still impossible. Jacqueline suddenly realized Reese hadn’t told her where she should leave her car.

She tried calling him, but apparently he’d turned off his cell. Twice around the block turned up nothing. The street wasn’t wide enough for her to double park, either. After wasting a precious ten minutes in a fruitless effort to secure a parking space, she pulled into the alley behind A Good Yarn. It wasn’t the best area of town in which to leave an expensive car, and Lydia had warned them against using it, but Jacqueline didn’t have any choice. The alley was narrow and dark and she shuddered involuntarily as she quickly locked the car.

When she got to the construction site, Reese was nowhere to be seen. However, as soon as she arrived at the trailer, his project manager greeted her. Jacqueline couldn’t recall his name, although she was fairly certain Reese had mentioned the young man. It’d been a long time since she’d kept track of his employees’ names.

“Thanks,” the youthful-looking man told her. “I know Reese was pretty upset about forgetting this.”

“It wasn’t any problem,” she murmured, stepping over a pile of rebar on her way out.

Grumbling under her breath, she walked across the street and down the block to the alley entrance. Unfortunately the yarn store wouldn’t be open for another twenty minutes, or she could’ve walked through there. As she entered the darkened alley, Jacqueline’s anger increased steadily. No wonder her marriage was in trouble. Instead of greeting her personally, Reese had sent his assistant—as if he took for granted that she’d interrupt her entire day on his behalf. Next time he could damn well retrieve his own briefcase.

Disgruntled, Jacqueline was halfway into the alley before an eerie warning sensation crawled up her spine. She stopped and looked suspiciously around. Nothing. She relaxed and mentally chastised herself for being foolish. The sun had yet to clear the tops of the buildings and the area remained cool and shady. She moved forward two more steps and stopped again as the sensation grew stronger, more compelling.

Her imagination was running away with her, Jacqueline decided. She’d watched one too many episodes of CSI. Still, her fear persisted, growing more intense by the moment. But she had to get to her car. What alternative did she have? It was either that or stand here all morning.

She was no more than twenty feet from her Mercedes when two men stepped out from the shadows. They loomed in front of her, half-obscured by the darkness. Menacing. She couldn’t see their faces clearly but she saw their sneers. They were street people, she thought, unkempt and filthy.

“What do we have here?” one called to the other, who moved quickly to block her exit.

Jacqueline broke into a cold sweat. Instinct told her to run, but she feared her legs were about to collapse. And in her heels, she had little chance of escaping if they decided to chase her.

“Kindly get out of my way,” she demanded and was rather pleased with her bravado.

“Kindly,” the second man, the taller of the two, echoed in a falsetto voice, raising his right arm and dangling his wrist. “We got ourselves a genuine lady here.”

“High society.”

“Lots of money.”

“Now give it up, bitch.”

Jacqueline clutched her purse tighter against her side. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Never could refuse a dare, could we, Larry?”

“Shut up,” the other man shouted, obviously angry that his friend had said his name. He pulled out a switchblade and brandished it in front of Jacqueline.

Despite her determination to remain calm, she gasped. The blade gleamed in what little light had broken through the alley.

He held out his arm as if he expected her to meekly hand over her purse, and Jacqueline realized this wasn’t a request but a command. Any resistance would surely be met with violence.

Although she wasn’t aware she’d released it, her designer bag fell to the asphalt.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” a brusque female voice shouted from behind Jacqueline. “Aren’t you on probation, Ralph? Be a real shame to see your sorry ass back in jail so soon.”

It took Jacqueline a moment to recognize Alix Townsend’s voice. Alix, the girl she considered a felon and a crude punk rocker, had risked her own life and come to her rescue.

“Stay out of this,” Larry growled, baring his teeth at the two women.

“Sorry, guys,” Alix said, waltzing forward, “but this lady happens to be a good friend of mine.”

Jacqueline stayed where she was, incapable of moving. Even her breathing had gone shallow.

Larry looked at the purse. “You want her for yourself,” he muttered. He clenched the knife tighter and raised it.

A clicking sound followed but the noise didn’t immediately register in Jacqueline’s mind. Then she understood. Alix carried a switchblade of her own.

“They can have the money.” Jacqueline didn’t care; she just wanted both of them out of this mess without getting hurt.

“No, they can’t,” Alix yelled as the two men started toward them. “Get over to the yarn store.”

“No.” Jacqueline didn’t know where she found the courage, but she scooped up her purse and swung it wildly at the two men. She’d paid seven hundred dollars for the Gucci bag and it served her well, connecting with a solid crunch against the shorter man’s head. Ralph howled with pain.

“What’s going on back here?” Lydia shouted from the rear door of her shop.

“Call 9-1-1,” Jacqueline screamed, panic raising her voice.

Alix crouched forward, her arms outstretched with a switchblade firmly gripped in her left hand. The men looked at the two women and at the empty door frame where Lydia had stood only seconds earlier. They glanced at each other and then ran for it, racing past Jacqueline and Alix.

As soon as they were out of sight, Jacqueline started to shake. The trembling began in her hands, and quickly moved down her arms and legs until it seemed that her knees had taken on a life of their own.

“Are you okay?” Alix asked.

Jacqueline shook her head.

“The police are on their way,” Lydia called.

“Larry and Ralph are gone now.” Alix wrapped her arm around Jacqueline’s waist and guided her through the back door of Lydia’s shop.

The table where they sat for their classes seemed a mile away before Jacqueline reached it and literally fell into a chair.

“I … I could’ve been murdered.” She’d seen the look in those men’s eyes. God only knew what they would’ve done to her if Alix hadn’t come into the alley when she had.

“Alix,” she gasped. “You saved my life.” In that moment, Jacqueline wanted to call back every ugly thought she’d ever had regarding the young woman. She didn’t care what color Alix dyed her hair. The girl had saved her from a fate she could hardly imagine.

Alix sat down next to her, and Jacqueline soon noticed that she was badly shaken, too. She’d put on a brave front when she confronted the two men, but she’d been terrified.

A siren blared outside and Lydia dashed to the front of the store to wait for the patrolmen. A few minutes later, two police officers entered the shop.

All three women started talking at once. Jacqueline felt she should be the one to explain; she was the one who’d been accosted, after all. She continued speaking, raising her voice in order to be heard above the other two.

“One at a time, ladies,” the first officer said, holding up his hand. He was young and clean-cut and reminded her of her son. Paul would be outraged when he learned she’d nearly been mugged.

The officer started with Jacqueline and when he’d finished, he asked Alix a few questions and finally Lydia. Each woman described the men in slightly different ways, although Alix seemed reluctant to discuss the matter. At first she didn’t reveal their names, but if Alix had forgotten, Jacqueline hadn’t.

With their descriptions known, plus their first names, it made sense that the two hoodlums would be apprehended shortly. Jacqueline had already decided to press charges. All the while she was speaking, she clutched her Gucci bag with both hands.

“You two know each other?” the patrolman asked, glancing from Jacqueline to Alix.

“Of course,” Jacqueline said. “We’re taking knitting classes together.”

“Yeah,” Alix muttered, and defiantly tilted her chin in their direction as if daring him to challenge her. “Jacqueline and I are friends.”

“She saved me from God knows what,” Jacqueline murmured.

The officer shook his head. “It would’ve been smarter just to give them your purse.”

Jacqueline knew he was right. All the survival manuals stated that in such a situation, the best course of action was to drop the purse and run.

Once the policemen had left, Jacqueline looked over at Alix who remained seated at the table across from her. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You owe me.”

Jacqueline nodded in full agreement. She still wasn’t sure what had led Alix into the alley. When questioned by the police she explained that she’d seen Jacqueline go in there and didn’t think it was a safe place for her friend to be. So she’d followed her. And Jacqueline would be forever grateful that she had.

Her one concern was that she owed Alix now. She could only speculate what the girl would want as payment.

24
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

The two days following the IVF procedure had been the worst. The specialist had instructed Carol to stay perfectly still for forty-eight hours. The enforced rest got on her nerves after only a few hours, but with every breath she drew, with every solid beat of her heart, she made herself think positive, nurturing thoughts.

She was all too aware that she was at the very end of the road, technologically speaking, for a biological child. She and Doug had decided this was it. They got their three chances through the insurance company and two of them were gone. IVF was expensive, time-consuming, unpredictable and uncertain. Correction, some aspects of the procedure were a certainty. Injections, frequent bloodwork and ultrasounds. She’d been poked and prodded so often she barely noticed it anymore.

Carol refused to allow herself to dwell on any of the negatives. This time she’d have her baby. This time at least one of the fertilized eggs implanted in her womb would take hold—and she’d keep the pregnancy. Nine months from now, she’d hold a baby in her arms and experience the joy that had been denied her all these years.

Doug had been wonderful. He’d done everything possible to make her comfortable. Still, Carol recognized the look in his eyes, the longing that went unspoken, and the fear that despite everything, they couldn’t, wouldn’t, have a child. This wasn’t easy for Doug and while he tried to hide it, Carol knew he was worried. So was she.

Thinking positive had grown more difficult by the second day, especially with Doug tiptoeing around her. The argument that flared between them that dreadful evening was neither her fault nor his; it was an explosion of emotion and frustration. Doug had stormed out of the house and didn’t return until after midnight. Carol was relieved he hadn’t been driving, because she smelled alcohol on his breath when he returned.

They made up the next morning, just as she’d known they would, and Doug had left for work after downing two cups of coffee and refusing breakfast. Now they had to wait, three weeks to be sure of the pregnancy and three months to be confident about it. By then their patience would be even more frayed.

Ten days after the procedure, Lydia phoned. This was the first time she’d called Carol at home and it was good to hear a friendly voice.

“I haven’t heard from you and was wondering how you’re doing,” Lydia said.

“Great.” The high-pitched burst of enthusiasm betrayed her.

“I mean, how are you really feeling?” Lydia murmured.

“Not so great,” Carol admitted. “Oh, Lydia, this is hard. Right now, it’s a waiting game, and both Doug and I are so tense.”

“Let me take you to lunch, and we’ll talk.”

Lunch out sounded divine, but she knew Lydia had responsibilities. “What about the shop?”

“I’ve already talked to Mom, and she’s going to come here for a couple of hours. Would you like to meet on the waterfront? It’s such a perfect day for it.”

Carol agreed. The sun was out and Puget Sound was an intense sapphire blue. Nothing would please her more than to get away from the condo for a few hours.

They chose a restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall place that specialized in fish and chips, scallops and shrimp dishes. By the time Carol arrived, Lydia had already obtained a table on the patio. The breeze off the water had the briny scent of sea air. Seagulls shrieked in their usual exuberant way. The white-topped peaks of the Olympics glowed in the distance and a Washington State ferry was docked at the pier close by. It was everything Carol loved about living in the Pacific Northwest.

“This is an unexpected surprise,” Carol told her as she took the chair across from Lydia.

“It’s just so beautiful I couldn’t bear to stay inside a minute longer. My mother’s been after me to take some time for myself, and today I decided she was right.”

“Does she knit?”

“Only a little—enough to get by. She loves the idea of standing in for me. It gives her an emotional boost to think she’s helping, and she is.”

“Thank her for me.”

Lydia smiled. “Actually, I’m grateful for the break, too. I needed it. I’m glad you could join me at the last minute.”

Carol had only known Lydia a short while, but she considered the other woman her friend. Not since her college days had she had time to invest in friendships. Lydia had mentioned her eagerness to make new friends, too; they’d arrived at a similar point in their lives but for entirely different reasons. They’d talked frequently and Lydia encouraged Carol’s growing love for knitting. It was easy to like Lydia; she was so gentle, so quiet and unassuming. Carol had never once heard Lydia raise her voice or lose her patience. Only when she talked about knitting and yarn did she become animated or excited. Carol was impressed by Lydia’s calm manner when she dealt with the outbursts between Alix and Jacqueline. It couldn’t be easy having them both in the same class. More than once Carol had to bite her tongue to keep from asking if their behavior wasn’t a little juvenile.

Seated under the shade of the overhead umbrella, Carol glanced at the menu. She decided on seafood fettuccini, a longtime favorite. She almost never ordered it in a restaurant because no recipe had ever matched the one her mother had given her. While she hadn’t done much cooking until recently, she made a delectable olive-oil-based seafood spaghetti that Doug always raved about.

They discussed knitting and friendship, shared stories of growing up and talked about books they’d both read. The highlight of their lunch was the story of Alix rescuing Jacqueline from muggers in the back alley.

Carol decided to stop at the market on her way home to pick up something for dinner. Her appetite had been nonexistent lately, ever since the procedure, and dinners had been thrown together at the last minute with little forethought or effort. If not for Doug, she would have foregone the meal entirely.

When Carol left the waterfront, she felt a great deal better. Amazing what a little girl-time could do. She bought a small sirloin tip roast at the market and walked back to the condo, feeling refreshed, glorying in the sunshine.

The moment he arrived home, Doug noticed the difference in her mood. He smiled and kissed her, then went into the bedroom to change clothes. When he reappeared, he had on his Mariners baseball jacket and hat.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” he said when he saw the look on her face. “Bill and I have tickets for the game.”

“Of course.” She shrugged off her disappointment. Her afternoon with Lydia had done her a world of good and she wouldn’t begrudge her husband a night with his longtime college friend.

Minutes later, he was out the door. It was the first time all week she’d cooked a decent meal, and Doug wouldn’t be home to enjoy it. Life seemed to be full of such little ironies.

She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, not really, but her elated mood had definitely sagged by the time her brother phoned. They hadn’t talked since his visit the month before.

“Can I come over?” he asked, sounding depressed.

“Of course, but it’s just me. Doug’s at the Mariners’ game with Bill.”

Rick’s sigh was audible. “Actually, that’s probably better.”

This was a surprising comment. “What’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Her brother showed up less than half an hour later. Carol hadn’t ever seen him look this bad—unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes. He collapsed into a chair and when she offered him a beer, he muttered, “Do you have anything stronger?”

“Sorry,” she said. “Just wine.”

“I’ll have a beer, then.” He leaned forward and braced his elbow on his knees, letting his forearms dangle.

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?” she asked as she handed him a cold beer.

Rick twisted off the cap and took a deep swig. “Was I born stupid or did I recently acquire this personality trait?”

“The answer depends on your problem,” she said, sitting across from him. Infuriating though Rick could be, it was difficult to stay angry with him for long. She supposed his easygoing personality was as much of a hindrance as it was an asset. Perhaps everything had come too easily for him.

“Lisa’s pregnant,” he said.

Carol stared at him blankly. “Lisa? Lisa who?”

He rubbed his eyes. “A flight attendant I’ve seen a few times.”

“Obviously you’ve done more than see her,” Carol snapped, unable to hide her anger. This was unbelievable. For a moment she thought it might be a bad joke, but one look told her he was serious. Just a few weeks ago he’d declared his undying love for his ex-wife.

“What about Ellie?” she cried. “The last time we talked, you were hoping to get back together with her.” Sleeping with some other woman certainly didn’t prove his devotion.

“I know … I love Ellie and I want her back.”

“Then what were you doing with Lisa?”

“It just sort of happened,” he mumbled dejectedly.

Carol shook her head, barely able to take in what her brother was telling her. “You just sort of fell into bed together?” Her voice grew more agitated with every word. So this was the reason Ellie didn’t trust him. She’d hinted at the truth, but Carol had refused to listen, refused to believe that her big, strong, wonderful brother had clay feet—and a clay heart.

“Say something,” Rick urged.

Carol shook her head again, viewing her brother in an entirely different light. All these years he’d been her hero; now, all of a sudden she saw him for the weak charmer he really was. “You’ve certainly made a mess this time.”

“Trust me, little sister, you can’t say anything I haven’t already said to myself. This ruins everything.”

“And exactly whose fault is that?” she demanded. Unable to stay seated any longer, she jumped to her feet and started pacing the room. “You’re too smart to have unprotected sex, damn it!”

Rick closed his eyes.

“Does Ellie know?”

“No!” He nearly shouted the word. “I’m not telling her, either, that’s for sure.”

“What about Lisa?”

“What about her? She’s in shock, too—apparently whatever she used for birth control failed.”

“No kidding.” Carol was furious with her brother and too angry to care what he thought.

She took a few minutes to adjust to the news. She sat down again and placed her hand over her mouth. Her brother hadn’t come to her so she could rant at him. He was clearly looking for some sort of direction, although she had no idea what to suggest.

“You’re one hundred percent sure the baby is yours?”

He nodded and studied his hands. “We’ve been pretty involved lately.”

She swallowed a retort. “How far along is she?” she asked instead, her voice brisk.

“She just found out. A month, I guess.”

Carol flipped her hair away from her face and tried to concentrate. “When did she tell you?”

“Yesterday. She phoned me in a panic and, hell, I didn’t know what to say. What could I say?”

“Do you love her?”

Rick considered her question for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I care about her and I like her, but as for loving her, not really. I know I don’t want to marry her. Why should I marry her because she forgot to swallow some pill?” Rick’s expression was miserable, shocked and angry all at once. “I love Ellie,” he murmured. “It’s Ellie I want to be with, it’s Ellie I need in my life.”

“Then you should’ve kept your pants zipped.” Carol didn’t mean to be crude, but her brother frustrated her. If he loved Ellie, truly loved her, he should be willing to do whatever it took to win her back. Sleeping with a flight attendant shouldn’t even be on that list.

“If you aren’t going to marry Lisa, then what?” Carol asked.

“I don’t know.”

With her eyes opened, Carol confronted him, daring him to tell her the truth. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

“First time for what? If you’re asking whether I’ve fathered other kids, you’re wrong. I’ve always been careful, but Lisa said …” He let the rest fade.

“I meant this isn’t the first time you cheated on Ellie.” Technically they were divorced, so it couldn’t really be considered adultery. “That’s the reason she filed for divorce, isn’t it?”

Her brother looked up briefly and nodded.

Rick stayed for an hour, and they talked while dinner went cold. He was still in shock and, frankly, so was she. Rick had always been her idol and in the space of a few minutes he’d tumbled from his pedestal.

She ended up making steak sandwiches and coffee, and Rick left soon afterward for his hotel. He definitely needed sleep, but he and Carol planned to talk again the next day.

Doug returned home an hour later, thrilled that the Mariners had handily defeated the Yankees. Carol told him about the visit from her brother and his devastating news.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” her husband told her. They sat side by side on the sofa, Doug’s arm around her. “Rick’s always been a ladies’ man.”

Carol found it hard to believe her brother could be so morally lacking. It was as if this person she’d grown up with and loved was a stranger. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”

“I couldn’t. You always thought he could do no wrong.”

Carol felt sick to her stomach.

“He’s been doing it ever since I’ve known him. Fooling around with one woman while seeing another.” Doug held her close for several seconds. “The truth is, I’m not overly fond of Rick.”

“Doug! How can you say such a thing?” Rick was the one who’d introduced her to her husband. They’d been college friends and dorm mates. But now that she thought about it, Carol realized Doug had never shown as much enthusiasm for seeing Rick as she did.

“It’s true, honey. The only good thing that came out of the friendship was meeting you. I’ve never liked his ethics.”

Carol let his words sink in. She was seeing her brother realistically for the very first time. He was a selfish little boy who refused to grow up. She wondered how many people had recognized it before her.

Later, as Carol snuggled close to her husband in bed, she couldn’t help thinking about life’s many injustices.

“Why is it,” she asked in a whisper, “that women who don’t want to get pregnant have such an easy time of it?”

She felt her husband’s slight nod of agreement. “I wish I had an answer, sweetheart, but life just isn’t fair.”

“No kidding,” she muttered for the second time that night.

25
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix slept late on Friday morning, lying in bed while the last remnants of sleep faded away. She was warm and comfortable and unwilling to move. Keeping her eyes closed, she let her mind linger on the kiss she’d shared with Jordan. Never in all her life had she realized a kiss could be so good.

She’d been kissed plenty, and had lots of other experience, too. Still, no kiss had affected her like that one. The men she knew tended to be rough and sweaty and urgent in their need to dominate. She’d never known such sweet pleasure from a simple kiss. But then, she reminded herself, this could all be tied up with a childhood dream that had been shattered one night in the sixth grade.

Even now, more than a week later, she remembered every nuance of his kiss. His hands had framed her face and his eyes had locked with hers. She’d seen his look of surprise—and uncertainty. They’d parted soon afterward, and it almost seemed to her that they needed to get away from each other in order to assimilate what had happened.

Alix hadn’t seen Jordan since, hadn’t talked to him, either. She tried not to dwell on that. Unsure what prompted her, on Sunday morning Alix had walked over to the Free Methodist church Jordan had mentioned. She stood across the street and chain-smoked three cigarettes while she watched people file in.

Jordan was right about one thing: only a few of the older adults wore hats and gloves and dresses. Various families came with youngsters in tow, all carrying Bibles. Alix had only ever owned one Bible and that had been so long ago, she didn’t know where it had gone. Staring at the churchgoers, she saw that most people wore casual clothes, but that wasn’t a strong enough incentive to send her inside.

She’d loitered on the corner, hoping, she guessed, that Jordan would notice her. He obviously hadn’t; she didn’t see him either.

The music was good, upbeat and lively—not what she remembered at all. Alix had heard church music as a kid and it had sounded like something out of the Middle Ages, but it wasn’t that way now. Once she’d even caught herself humming along and quickly stopped.

After about forty minutes, she’d walked away, hands buried deep in her pockets. It wouldn’t have hurt to slip into the back pew and take a look, but fear made that impossible. Analyzing her actions now, nearly a week later, Alix wasn’t sure what she’d been so afraid of. The possibility of someone talking to her, perhaps.

Rather than brood on last week’s disappointment, Alix tossed back the sheets and climbed slowly out of bed. Laurel was sitting in front of the television, an old model with a faded picture tube and tinfoil-wrapped rabbit ears. Her roommate stared intently at a kids’ cartoon.

“Morning,” Alix muttered as she wandered into their tiny kitchen.

Laurel ignored her.

“What’s your problem?” she asked irritably. They were supposed to be friends, but Laurel rarely spoke to her anymore. She’d been sulking for weeks now.

Laurel shook her head, silently indicating that she didn’t want to talk. Alix had no idea what was bothering her, but she assumed it had something to do with that worm of a used-car salesman. He hadn’t been around lately. For a while they’d been together constantly and then all of a sudden he was out of the picture. Whatever had happened remained a mystery. Laurel certainly wasn’t telling.

“Fine, be in a bad mood.” Alix reached for a banana. “See if I care.”

Once again Laurel ignored her. Peeling the banana, Alix plopped down on the one stuffed chair in the apartment. Someone had abandoned it in a vacant lot. Alix and Laurel had come upon it and carried it the three blocks back to the apartment. It was pretty ratty, but Alix had found a printed sheet and spread it over the chair. With a few tucks and folds it wasn’t half bad. No designers would be asking her to make a guest appearance on their shows, but it worked for now.

Biting into the banana, Alix noticed that the baby blanket she was knitting lay on the floor.

“What the hell happened here?” she demanded. She flew off the chair to rescue her project. The ball of yarn had unwound and ended up near the apartment door.

Laurel wasn’t paying her any heed.

Standing directly in front of the television, Alix glared at her roommate. “I don’t know what your problem is, but get over it.”

“Keep your knitting away from me.”

Alix snickered; she couldn’t help it. “What’s the matter? Did it chase after you?”

“It was in my way.”

“So you threw it at the door?” Talk about unreasonable!

Laurel didn’t answer.

Alix examined the nearly completed blanket, unsure what she’d do if Laurel had caused her to drop stitches or worse, pulled out the needles. Laurel was treading precariously close to a fight. Alix was sick of her roommate’s bad moods, sick of her slovenly habits and sick of her mooning over a man who was a loser with a capital L.

“Get a grip, will you?” she snapped on her way back to the bedroom. They shared the one bedroom, which made life all the more difficult. The latest rumors floating around said the apartment building had been sold. Where they’d move next was as unclear as the stitches Alix had yet to master.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel if you …” Laurel didn’t finish. Instead she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

Alix felt awful. Sitting next to Laurel, she sighed. “It’s lover boy, isn’t it?”

Laurel nodded. “He said … he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

Anything Alix could say at that moment would have been wrong. Laurel didn’t want to hear what a loser John was. Alix didn’t understand why Laurel couldn’t see it when everyone else did. Okay, so John had a decent job. Nevertheless, he was a sleaze and nothing would discount that sad truth.

Laurel pulled her feet up and locked her arms around her knees. She’d been overweight when they met but now she seemed to be even bigger than Alix remembered. She’d obviously gained weight since the breakup. Now that Alix thought about it, they’d been going through a lot of groceries lately.

“Eating isn’t going to help.” Alix strived to sound sympathetic.

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Not fat, exactly.”

“Okay, I’m fat and ugly. You think I don’t know that?” Her voice dipped with venom and her greasy blond hair fell forward as she buried her face in her knees. “And mean.”

“Mean?” Alix asked, her suspicions growing.

Laurel nodded. “Jordan stopped by the store on Tuesday and asked me to give you a message and I didn’t.”

A chill came over Alix. “What was the message?”

“He … he wanted to take you roller-skating.”

“When?”

“This afternoon with a bunch of kids from his church and I didn’t tell you…. I know I should have, but I didn’t want you to have a man when I don’t. I’m fat and ugly and no one wants me.”

Laurel stood and reached inside her jeans for a folded-up piece of paper. “I was supposed to give you this.”

Alix unfolded the flyer and saw that it announced an afternoon skating party at a rink five blocks away. Alix stared at the page and turned it over to find a note Jordan had written her. “Alix, I’m looking for a partner. You interested?”

The way her heart nearly exploded told her she was. But skating? Her? Alix had never put on a pair of skates in her life. When she was five or six, all the kids who lived in the same apartment complex had roller skates. Alix had desperately longed for a pair. But finances were always a problem for her family. There wasn’t enough money for beer, cigarettes, drugs and roller skates, too.

“You want to come?” she asked Laurel, well aware of what it felt like to be excluded.

Laurel looked up, then shook her head. “No. Are you actually doing it?” She didn’t hide her astonishment.

Alix shrugged. “Maybe.”

She took an hour to think it over. Jordan claimed he liked her for herself. She wasn’t sure she should believe him; what he remembered was the girl she’d been at eleven, which was a far sight from the woman she was now. Despite her doubts she realized she wanted to trust him, wanted to be with him, the same way she had all those years ago.

Nothing had ever come easy for Alix. Everything had been a struggle. If she was going to have a good life, she had to make it happen herself. That recognition fired her determination to give this relationship a chance.

Alix was waiting outside the skating rink, leaning against the building, when the big yellow church bus pulled up. The doors opened and about a thousand preteens poured out. No one paid much attention to Alix until Jordan walked over to her, wearing the biggest grin she’d ever seen.

“I was hoping you’d show up.”

“I’m not skating.” She wanted that understood. “I came to watch.” She wasn’t willing to play the role of klutz in front of a crowd of teenyboppers.

“You’ll be missing out on all the fun.”

She didn’t care; no one was strapping her into a pair of skates.

The rink opened and the kids swarmed inside. Alix hung around on the street, smoking a cigarette, then casually wandered into the rink. Already kids were skating on the polished wooden floor, speeding around and around with the music blasting. This wasn’t music Alix recognized—but then she realized she did. She’d heard one of the songs while she was standing outside the church last Sunday morning. The rink apparently provided Christian rock.

Alix had to look for Jordan. Then she saw him, surrounded by kids. They followed him wherever he went—as though he were Moses, she thought with a smile. Some of that Bible stuff had definitely stuck. Jordan was busy helping them with their skates and putting on his own. Before he ventured into the rink, he stopped and gazed around. When he saw her, he smiled that lazy, happy grin and she nodded her head in acknowledgement. He winked back, and it felt as if the sun was shining directly on her.

Despite her curiosity, Alix remained in the background, taking everything in. Jordan finally skated into the rink, faltering a bit before he found his balance. Once he did, he began skating smoothly and confidently; she found it a pleasure to watch. A few of the kids skated around him, and some of them were really good, skating backward and doing creative dance-style moves to the music.

When Alix lost sight of Jordan, she moved closer to the railing. Jordan skated past and waved. It didn’t take long for the church kids to notice the attention he paid Alix. Several stopped to look at her and chat among themselves. Alix ignored them.

“Is Jordan your friend?” a girl asked. She couldn’t be more than thirteen, with perfect dark hair and olive skin. Another girl, a blonde in braces, stood beside her.

Alix nodded.

“He mentioned you,” Blondie said.

Okay, so Alix was curious. “What did he say?”

The other girl answered. “Jordan said he’d invited a friend to join him. He said you used to be his valentine.”

Alix shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

“He’s kinda cute, don’t you think?” Blondie said.

Alix shrugged again. Anything she said was sure to get back to Jordan.

“Aren’t you going to skate?” the first girl asked.

“Maybe later.”

Jordan went around the rink at least a dozen times, then pleaded fatigue and glided over to stand next to Alix. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been around.”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

She almost hadn’t, but she didn’t mention the reason.

“You’ve never skated before, have you?”

“Every kid’s skated,” she returned, rather than confess the truth.

An hour later, Alix was wearing a pair of skates. Before she knew it, her two newfound friends had convinced her to give it a try. Once Alix had on the skates, the girls led her into the rink, each holding one of her hands.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t going to let you fall,” the blond girl promised.

The girls gripped her fingers hard enough for Alix to believe it.

She shouldn’t have.

Two feet onto the slick wooden floor, Alix started flailing. Not ten seconds later, she was flat on her butt. She didn’t have a chance to even think before Jordan came up behind her and tucked his arms under hers, swooping her upright.

“Everyone falls.” Then with his arm around her waist and his free hand holding hers, they made one full circuit of the rink. Kids whizzed past them at speeds that made Alix dizzy. She didn’t look. Couldn’t look. She needed all her concentration to remain upright.

“This isn’t so hard.” She was starting to get the feel of it. Despite herself she laughed. It was as if she were six years old again and Santa had delivered that pair of roller skates, after all.

“Cherie says you’re cool.”

Alix didn’t care what the little blond girl thought. “What do you say?” she asked Jordan.

He grinned down at her. “I think you’re pretty cool, too.”

His words were more beautiful than any music she’d ever heard.

26
CHAPTER

“People who say they don’t have enough patience to knit are precisely those who could most improve their lives by learning how!”

—Sally Melville,

author of The Knitting Experience series

LYDIA HOFFMAN

This has been quite a week. It’s unheard of for me to have two social engagements within the same seven-day period. My lunch on Wednesday with Carol did so much good—for both of us. I feel I connected with her and extended a hand of friendship. She responded, and I’m confident we’ll stay in touch, whether or not she continues to knit.

The class earlier this afternoon was the best yet. Following the incident in the back alley, Alix and Jacqueline were cordial and just shy of friendly. Jacqueline relayed the details of the confrontation in minute detail, with Alix leaping in to add comments. Anyone looking at them would think they were longtime friends.

When I asked Jacqueline how her husband had reacted when she told him about the incident, she’d gone suspiciously quiet. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I have the feeling all is not well between Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.

The class flew by, and then I was seeing Brad for drinks. We were meeting at The Pour House for a beer at six after I’d closed for the day. Despite the drizzle we’d had intermittently since early morning, I was in a great mood.

The Pour House was about two blocks off Blossom, and seemed to be a popular hangout for the after-work crowd. The noise level was high with music blaring from a jukebox, high-spirited laughter and a television above the bar, which had a ball game on. I’m not very interested in sports, but I know lots of men are. Between the noise and the room’s darkness, I felt a bit disoriented.

Brad had found a booth near the back, and when he saw me, he stood, waving his arms over his head. I smiled and waved back, then quickly made my way across the room, negotiating tables and chairs.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” he said as he slid back into the booth.

“Am I late?” I glanced at my watch, and was surprised to see that it was almost fifteen minutes past six. I shook the rain off my jacket and Brad hung it up for me.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, but I’ve only got half an hour or so. The day care teacher said she’d keep Cody until seven-fifteen but not a minute longer and it takes me at least twenty minutes to get there.”

“How old is your son?”

“Eight. He keeps telling me he’s too old to be in day care, but I’m not letting him stay by himself all day.” Judging by Brad’s frown, I guessed this had been a frequent argument over the summer. “Sometimes I swear that kid’s eight going on eighteen.”

I thought of my own two nieces and while I might not be a mother, I understood what he was saying.

“Since we don’t have much time,” Brad said, “I’d rather not waste it talking about me. I want to learn about you.”

I considered myself the least intriguing of subjects. Nevertheless, I was flattered by his curiosity.

“I know there’s a lot of interest in knitting, but isn’t it risky to open a shop right now?” he asked before I could forestall him with questions of my own. I knew so little about Brad except what my eyes told me. He was as handsome as sin. From bits and pieces of conversation, I also knew he was divorced and apparently had custody of his eight-year-old son, but that was about it.

He certainly wasn’t the first person to express concern about my timing. Everyone worried that I was going to become a victim of our weak economy, that I was in over my head. But I’d been treading water since I was sixteen, so opening my own yarn store was no riskier than anything else in my life. Margaret had come right out and declared that I was making a mistake. But if I’d waited until all the conditions were ideal, it would never have happened. After two bouts with cancer, I knew I couldn’t wait for life to be perfect. I had to find my own happiness and quit waiting for it to find me.

I saw that he’d already ordered a pitcher of beer, which had just arrived. He paid the waitress and poured us each a glass. “My dad died just after Christmas,” I said as if that explained everything. “I was dealing with that loss, and then one day I found myself knitting furiously and remembered a conversation we’d had several years earlier.”

Brad sipped his beer and nodded for me to continue.

My throat got a bit scratchy but I ignored the emotion that filled me at the mention of my father. I don’t know if I’ll ever grow accustomed to having lost him. I paused for a moment.

“Go on,” Brad encouraged.

“At the time, I figured I was the one who didn’t have long to live.”

“You said you had cancer.”

“Twice.” I wanted to be sure he understood. I waited for a reaction from him, but he gave me none.

“Go on,” he said again. “You were talking about your father.”

I sipped my beer. He’d chosen a dark ale and I liked it. “I was in the hospital, and it was the night before my second brain surgery. Mom and Dad came to spend the evening with me. Mom was reading, and Dad and I were talking.” I remember that night so well because in my own heart I was convinced I’d be dead before the year was over. Dad was the one who believed in me, who insisted I was going to cheat death a second time.

“He asked me to describe one perfect day,” I told Brad. I knew he was forcing me to acknowledge that I wanted to live. The question was his way of drawing me into a future. A future I firmly believed was unavailable to me.

“What did you tell him?” Brad had leaned forward and cupped both hands around his mug.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds. “That I wanted to wake up in my own bed instead of one in a hospital.”

“Can’t blame you there.”

I grinned. Brad made it surprisingly easy to talk about myself. “Next I wanted to be able to smell flowers and be close to the water and feel sunshine on my face.”

“In the Pacific Northwest?” He smiled as he asked the question and I couldn’t help responding with a laugh.

“My perfect day happens in late summer, when we get plenty of sunshine.” This past Wednesday was a good example. “Now don’t distract me.”

“Yes’m.” His eyes fairly twinkled and for a moment I was so mesmerized I had to make myself look away.

“I’d wake to sunshine and the sounds of birds,” I continued, “and my perfect day would begin with a cup of strong coffee and a warm croissant. I’d take a leisurely stroll along the waterfront.”

“And after that?”

“I’d knit.” I remember how astonished my father had seemed when I told him that. He shouldn’t have been. By that time I’d been knitting for years. I remembered how my wanting to knit—seeing it as a perfect part of my perfect day—bothered him. Knitting, in his eyes, was such a solitary activity that I’d soon become a recluse.

“Knitting in your own store?” Brad murmured.

“Sort of.” One of the things I love most about being a knitter is the community of other knitters. Anytime I run into another person (usually a woman but not always) who knits, it’s like finding a long-lost friend. The two of us instantly connect. It doesn’t matter that only seconds earlier we were strangers, because we immediately share a common bond. I’d talked to other knitters in doctors’ offices, in line-ups at the grocery store—anywhere at all. We’ve exchanged horror stories of misprinted instructions and uncompleted projects. And we all loved to brag about fabulous yarn buys and, of course, discuss our current efforts.

“I wanted to help people discover the same sense of satisfaction and pride that I feel when I finish a project for someone I love.” That was the best way to describe it, I thought.

“How would you end your perfect day?”

“With music and champagne and candlelight,” I said shyly, which was only partially true. I’d told my dad I wanted to end the day dancing.

My father had told me I’d have that perfect day. What neither of us knew was that he wouldn’t be there to enjoy it with me.

“What’s wrong?” Brad asked, watching me.

I shook my head. “I was just thinking about how much I miss my father.”

To my surprise, Brad reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

I bristled. I didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. What I yearned for more than anything was to be normal. One of my biggest fears was that I could no longer recognize what normal was.

“Cancer is part of who I am, but it isn’t everything. I’m in remission today but I can’t speak for tomorrow or next week. I was in a holding pattern for most of my twenties but I’m beyond that now. It wasn’t just the doctors or the medicine or the surgery that saved me, especially since I’d died emotionally when I learned the cancer had returned.” I took a deep breath. “My father refused to let me give up, and when I discovered knitting, I felt like I’d found the Holy Grail because it was something I could do by myself. I could do it lying in bed if I had to. It was a way of proving I was more than a victim.”

Brad’s eyes grew somber and I think he really heard me.

“Anything else you want to ask me?” I sat up straighter, prepared to back off now.

A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “How come it took you so long to say yes to a beer with me?”

“Relationships aren’t part of my perfect day,” I teased, although that was far from the truth.

“No, seriously, I want to know.”

Mostly I’d been afraid of rejection, I guess. But all I said was, “I’m not sure.”

“Are you willing to go out with me again?” His eyes held mine.

I nodded.

“Good, because I only have a few more minutes and I want us to get to know each other.”

We talked for a little while longer, and I finally had the opportunity to ask him some personal questions, mainly about his marriage and his son.

Forty minutes later, I parked in front of Margaret and Matt’s house. I realized I’ve never shown up at my sister’s home without an invitation. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever actually invited me—and yet here I was, so excited I couldn’t hold still. I was dying to talk to someone, and since my sister had practically forced me into this, I figured she should be that someone.

I rang the doorbell and then stepped back, half afraid she wouldn’t ask me in. It was Hailey who answered. When she saw me, she shrieked with happiness—and left me standing on the porch while she ran to get her mother.

“Lydia.” Margaret burst into the room and stood on the other side of the closed screen door. “It is you.”

“I told you it was,” Hailey said from behind her mother.

My sister unlocked the screen door and held it open for me.

“I don’t usually drop by unannounced,” I said, “but I just had to tell you about my meeting with Brad.”

“Oh, my goodness, that was tonight.” My sister’s eyes lit up as she pulled me into the house. Before I could comprehend what was going on, she had me sitting at the kitchen table and was on a stepstool in front of the refrigerator, standing on tiptoe as she removed a liquor bottle from the cabinet above.

“What are you doing?” I asked, almost giddy.

“A night like this calls for homemade margaritas.” She had a bottle in each hand—one of tequila and one of cointreau.

I giggled like a schoolgirl. Hailey dug into the freezer portion of the refrigerator for ice cubes while Margaret found limes, then brought out the blender and special glasses.

In a matter of minutes, my sister had mixed the drinks and dipped the rims of both glasses in salt; she’d also made a virgin drink for Hailey, something involving ginger ale and fruit juice.

“Where are Matt and Julia?” I asked.

“Bonding at a baseball game,” Margaret explained, handing me my glass. “Now tell all.”

After two beers and now sipping a mixed drink, I wasn’t sure where to start. “I met Brad at The Pour House.” Both my sister and Hailey drew closer. “He had less than an hour because he had to pick up his son from day care.” If not for that, I had the feeling we could have spent half the night talking.

“He’s paying extra time at day care on a Friday night?” Margaret asked.

I nodded.

“You can bet he paid through the nose for that.”

“He didn’t say.” I looked from my sister to my niece who hung on every word.

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He asked a lot of questions but he didn’t talk much about himself. Mostly he talked about his son.”

Margaret shrugged as if that didn’t impress her half as much as his paying extra charges at the day care center. “What did he have to say about his ex-wife?”

I had to think about that for a moment, which gave me time to take another sip of the margarita. My sister possessed talents I would never have suspected. For one thing, this was the best margarita I’d had in years.

“Mostly he glossed over the divorce. They were too young and she decided she didn’t want to be married or responsible for a child. Not once in the entire conversation did Brad say anything negative or derogatory about Cody’s mother.”

Margaret smiled. “I like him, you know.”

So did I, but I was cautious. And nervous.

“You told him about having cancer?” my niece asked.

I nodded. “I felt it was only fair.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Margaret’s gaze was sharp.

“Yes.” I took another sip of my drink. “One more of these margaritas, and I’d probably be willing to marry him.”

My sister broke into peals of laughter. I can’t remember ever seeing Margaret this pleased with me and, silly as it sounds, I basked in her approval.

27
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

“Is everything all right with you and Reese?” Tammie Lee asked as she began clearing the dining room table.

Jacqueline sighed and pretended not to hear the question. She’d hoped no one had noticed the tension between her and Reese during tonight’s dinner party. The mayor and two city council members had been in attendance, along with their wives and three other couples.

At the last minute, not bothering to check with Jacqueline, Reese had invited Paul and Tammie Lee. Having Paul there was, of course, perfect, but Jacqueline had cringed at the prospect of her daughter-in-law sharing her unsophisticated sense of humor with members of the city government. Well, there was nothing Jacqueline could do about it.

Thankfully, the evening had gone surprisingly well, with only one minor glitch. The mayor had asked Tammie Lee her opinion of the country club. Without a pause Tammie Lee said in her heavy southern twang that it was nothing but tennis and bridge, dining and whining. After a second’s pause, during which Jacqueline wanted to slink away and die, the mayor laughed uproariously. He said it was the most honest thing anyone had ever said to him. Jacqueline wasn’t sure whether he actually meant it or was just being a good guest.

Reese had glared across the dinner table at Jacqueline, as if to tell her how wrong she was about Tammie Lee. And how right he was.

The invitation to their son and his wife wasn’t the crux of their most recent argument, however. Jacqueline and Reese rarely argued; there was no reason for it. But Reese had exploded when he learned she’d been accosted and nearly mugged by those two creeps. Thank goodness both had been apprehended and arraigned. Despite that, her husband had ranted at her for at least ten minutes, unwilling to listen to reason and all because she’d parked the car in the alley. He had the gall to claim she’d asked to be mugged. And then he’d called her stupid.

Jacqueline was still furious. How dare Reese say such things to her—especially when she’d been doing him a favor! Because of him, her entire day had been ruined. She’d missed her nail appointment entirely, was late for lunch and so rattled she hadn’t found a thing to buy on her shopping spree.

Other than unavoidable conversation, they hadn’t spoken in five very long days. They wouldn’t be speaking now except for the dinner party, which had been planned weeks earlier. Canceling at the last minute was not an option, so they’d put their argument behind them and assumed their best behavior. Jacqueline was astonished that Tammie Lee had noticed.

“Did you hear me?” Tammie Lee asked, following Jacqueline into the kitchen with an armload of china.

Anyone else would have gotten the message and dropped the subject. Not Tammie Lee.

“You can put those dishes on the counter,” Jacqueline instructed. “Really, there’s no need for you to help. Martha will be here in the morning.” The housekeeper lived in the small guest house in the back. Now that she was older, she rarely had the energy for serving dinner parties. She wanted to retire but Jacqueline relied on her and so Martha stayed on.

“You don’t want to leave these dishes on the table overnight,” Tammie Lee had insisted and she was right. As soon as everyone had left, Jacqueline would put everything in the dishwasher, a task she preferred to do herself.

“It was a lovely party,” her daughter-in-law said.

“Thank you.” Jacqueline bit her tongue to keep from mentioning that one day Tammie Lee would be expected to hold similar parties of her own. She could only hope that when the time came, Tammie Lee would’ve learned a lesson or two from her. Somehow Jacqueline doubted it.

“You’re such a gracious hostess,” Tammie Lee said, returning with her second load of bone china plates.

“Thank you.” Jacqueline fought the impulse to remind her daughter-in-law that each of those plates cost more than Tammie Lee’s entire summer wardrobe. “Where are Reese and Paul?” she asked curiously. Jacqueline was tired; the party had drained her and she was ready for bed. She wanted Paul and Tammie Lee to go home so she could finish up.

“They’re in the den talking.” All the dishes must be in the kitchen now, because Tammie Lee sat down and propped her feet on the opposite chair. She planted her hands on her round belly and rubbed gently. It was more and more obvious now that she was pregnant. Jacqueline hadn’t yet forgiven her son and his wife for keeping the news to themselves for nearly six months.

Jacqueline wondered what Reese and Paul were discussing that could possibly take this long. She scraped off the plates and set them inside the dishwasher.

“I hope you didn’t mind me showing the mayor the blanket you made for our baby,” Tammie Lee murmured. “I think it’s a perfectly lovely thing to do for your first grandchild.”

Jacqueline scowled but kept her head averted so Tammie Lee couldn’t see her reaction. “No, that was fine.”

“Paul and I are so thrilled you knit something for our baby girl.”

Jacqueline nodded rather than respond verbally. She continued to scrape leftovers into the garbage disposal.

When she’d finished, she claimed a chair next to Tammie Lee, first pouring herself a glass of wine. If she was going to be trapped in the kitchen with her daughter-in-law, she needed fortification.

Tammie Lee studied her. “Did I ever tell you about the time my mama ran over the mailbox with my daddy’s tractor?”

Jacqueline swallowed her groan. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that one,” she said as she swirled the wine around in her goblet.

If Tammie Lee noticed her sarcasm, she chose to ignore it. “It’s the only time I can remember hearing my daddy holler at Mama. My mama went rushing into the house in tears and I went, too, outraged that my daddy would raise his voice to her.”

“Men tend to speak their minds,” Jacqueline said. She sipped her wine and let it linger on her tongue. At fifty dollars a bottle, she was taking the time to appreciate the finer qualities of this merlot.

“Later Mama told me that the only reason Daddy had been hollering was because the tractor might have toppled on her. He didn’t care one bit about that mailbox. It was my mama he loved, and she might have been crushed getting that close to the irrigation ditch in the tractor. His yelling was a sign of how much he loved her.”

Jacqueline was sure there was a point to this story, but at the moment it escaped her. She sipped the wine.

“I hope I didn’t speak out of turn earlier,” Tammie Lee said softly, her eyes wide.

Jacqueline shrugged carelessly. “I believe the mayor was … amused.”

“Not the mayor,” Tammie Lee corrected. “I meant when I asked if everything was all right between you and Reese.”

“Everything is perfectly fine between my husband and me,” Jacqueline primly informed her. She downed the rest of the merlot—finer qualities be damned—and set the glass on the table.

“Good,” Tammie Lee said, “because Paul and I love you so much and our baby’s going to need her grandma and grandpa.”

Somehow Jacqueline managed a smile. “So your mother actually ran the tractor over the mailbox?”

“Twice.”

“Twice?” Perhaps it was the wine, but Jacqueline laughed out loud.

“Daddy wasn’t any happier about it the second time, either.”

Jacqueline would bet not.

“But my daddy loves Mama the same way Reese loves you.”

Jacqueline stopped laughing. Reese hadn’t truly loved her in years. Their marriage was one of convenience and comfort. She didn’t complain about his Tuesday night appointments and he didn’t mention the balance on their credit cards. They had a mutually agreeable relationship, but whatever real love they’d once shared was dead.

“Tammie Lee.” Paul’s voice rang from the dining room.

“In here,” she called, her voice high and animated.

Reese and Paul came into the kitchen, leaving the connecting door between the kitchen and the dining room swinging in their wake.

“You must be exhausted,” Paul said, smiling down on her with such love it was painful to watch. “Are you ready to head home?”

Tammie Lee nodded and Paul helped her to her feet. Then, to Jacqueline’s shock, her daughter-in-law bent down and threw her arms around her neck.

“Thank you,” Tammie Lee whispered, hugging her warmly.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure how to respond. She placed her arms carefully around Tammie Lee and hugged back. It’d been so long since anyone had touched her with so much affection that she found herself close to tears.

“You’re such a wonderful mother-in-law,” Tammie Lee told her. “I think I’m the most blessed woman in the world.”

Jacqueline gazed at Reese over Tammie Lee’s shoulder. She saw something powerful flickering in his eyes. Could Reese possibly still have feelings for her? Was it the reason he’d been so angry about her parking the car in the alley? That apparently was the point of Tammie Lee’s story.

The thought seemed almost inconceivable.

28
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol was the first to show up for knitting class on Friday afternoon. She arrived early in order to look through the pattern book for another project.

“I thought you were knitting your brother a pullover,” Lydia said as Carol leafed through the section of the binder that held men’s sweater patterns.

“I was, but I’m too upset with him to knit him anything.” Carol hadn’t spoken to Rick in over a week. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but she’d half expected him to keep in touch with her after his confession. This time, his charm wasn’t going to be enough to get him out of the mess he’d created. There were no easy answers.

The bell above the door chimed and when Carol glanced up, she nearly did a double-take. Alix walked in—wearing jeans and a T-shirt. It was the first time Carol had seen her without the constant black leather jacket and either black pants or a ridiculously short skirt. Her hair looked … less punk. Carol opened her mouth to comment but quickly closed it again. Alix didn’t like having attention directed at her, even though she blatantly strove to be different. If that wasn’t a contradiction in terms, Carol didn’t know what was.

“Hi,” Alix said, sauntering up to the table. Her manner seemed self-conscious, and she glared at Lydia and Carol as if defying them to comment on her changed appearance. Then she sat down in one of the chairs and took her knitting out of the plastic video-store bag.

“Hi,” they both responded.

“How’s the pregnancy going?” Alix’s voice was matter-of-fact; she seemed to consider this a perfectly normal question.

Carol saw that Lydia looked over at them warily. No one else had dared ask Carol about her condition. “So far, so good,” she said. “I’m still peeing blue.”

“What?” Alix raised her head.

“The test that tells me I’m registering as positive for a pregnancy,” Carol explained. With the fertilized embryo implanted in her womb, it wasn’t getting pregnant that was difficult, it was staying pregnant. Twice now she’d lost the baby before the third week. Holding on to the pregnancy this long meant there was hope, but no part of the process was certain. The first three months were the riskiest in any pregnancy. In her online support group, Carol had recently heard from one friend who’d been pregnant for two and a half months only to miscarry. It had been heartbreaking, and every member had felt Susan’s loss deeply.

The door opened again and Jacqueline came into the shop, bracelets jangling. She wore a tailored pantsuit Carol considered far too formal for the occasion and carried not only her Gucci purse but a leather tote in which she kept her knitting. The woman did like to make an entrance. It was as if she expected everyone to notice she’d arrived and react accordingly. Actually Carol didn’t mind. She’d grown to like all the women in her knitting group.

She and Jacqueline were onto new projects now. The only one who hadn’t finished the baby blanket was Alix, and Carol suspected it was because she couldn’t afford to buy more yarn.

“I’m starting a new sweater,” Carol said, still leafing through patterns.

“What about the other one?” She knew Alix had especially liked the gray cashmere.

“I’m tired of it.” She glanced at Lydia and shared a conspiratorial smile with her. “Do you want the yarn?”

Alix’s eyes lit up. “You don’t want it?”

“Not really.”

“What about the pattern? Do you need that?”

“Not particularly.”

“Great!” Alix shoved her knitting into the plastic bag and nearly rubbed her hands in glee. “I’m almost done with the blanket, and I’d like to knit that sweater for a … friend.”

“Who?” Leave it to Jacqueline to ask.

“A friend, like I said,” Alix muttered defiantly.

“Don’t get high and mighty with me,” Jacqueline snapped. “I was just interested, that’s all.”

Jacqueline expressing interest in Alix? A few weeks ago that would’ve been unimaginable. The change in attitude between them was dramatic and had begun with the near-mugging in the alley. They still sniped at each other but that seemed more out of habit than conviction.

“I didn’t know you had a male friend,” Lydia said, smiling at Alix.

“I don’t,” Alix said quickly, too quickly to be convincing.

“Then who’s the sweater for?”

“Like I said, a friend.”

“Sure,” Jacqueline murmured, grinning. She winked at Alix, whose cheeks immediately blossomed a fetching shade of pink.

“If you must know, it’s a guy I met at the video store,” Alix said irritably. Still, Carol had the feeling that Alix wanted to tell them….

“Does he like you?” Jacqueline asked.

Alix shrugged. “He did when we were in sixth grade—but, well, he’s a preacher and I don’t exactly see the two of us sailing off into the sunset, if you catch my drift.”

“Why not?” Lydia asked. “Preachers have lives, too, you know.”

Alix lowered her head and concentrated on her knitting. “He’s a good kisser,” she said in a soft voice.

Predictably, that piqued the group’s interest, and a lively discussion broke out.

“Reese was quite a kisser in his day,” Jacqueline volunteered. “I remember the first time he kissed me. Every cell in my body sprang to life.”

Carol smiled at the dreamy look on Jacqueline’s face. “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time Doug kissed me,” she recalled. She noticed that Lydia was doing busy work around the shop, straightening patterns that were already straight. “What about you, Lydia?” Carol asked.

Lydia jerked around, almost as if she resented being included in the conversation. Then she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything more than a … kiss. It was always pleasant, but nothing earth-shattering happened afterward.”

“It will one day,” Jacqueline assured her.

“Don’t you think you’re placing a lot of importance on a simple kiss?” Lydia asked. “Good grief, we’ve all been kissed, and while it’s very nice most of the time, it’s not that big a deal.”

Jacqueline motioned toward Alix. “Was it a big deal for you when this preacher kissed you?”

Carol could tell Alix was uncomfortable with the question. The girl tossed her head in a nonchalant movement. “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t think about it, you know?” She looked around, and her expression said she’d thought of little else.

For a moment the room was silent as each woman concentrated on her individual task. Carol wasn’t sure what Jacqueline was working on these days. She’d started knitting scarves using an ultra-expensive yarn and then moved on to felting hats and purses. It was hard to keep up with Jacqueline’s current projects because she leaped from one to another and seemed to have several in progress at a time. Carol suspected she’d become one of Lydia’s best customers.

“Didn’t I see you come out of The Pour House last Friday?” Alix suddenly asked Lydia. “With that UPS driver.”

“Me?” Lydia’s cheeks flamed and she raised her hand to her chest. “Yes … I was meeting Brad Goetz for a drink.”

Alix let out a low whistle of approval. “He’s hot stuff.”

Lydia seemed to find something that needed attention in her display of knitting books. “We’re going to dinner later in the week.”

“Do I sense a romance developing?” Jacqueline asked in a friendly tone.

“That would be nice,” Carol said. She was amused at how shy Lydia was about men. Brad was the first one she’d mentioned. And this young preacher of Alix’s … Carol felt touched that the girl had confided in them.

“Would you like to come up to the condo to get the yarn one day next week?” Carol asked impulsively.

Alix nodded. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Or I can bring it to class, if you’d prefer.”

“I can stop by your place.”

Carol had the feeling the girl didn’t get many such invitations. “Why don’t you come for lunch on Monday? Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Despite her indifferent-sounding response, Alix couldn’t hide her eagerness to accept.

Carol looked around at the others with an affectionate smile. There was Alix, of course, whose defensiveness had diminished so noticeably. And Jacqueline, who no longer tried to impress them with her social connections. Lydia had become less reserved, and her warmth and wit were more in evidence every week.

Odd how these things went, Carol mused as she continued to leaf through the pattern book. A group of mismatched personalities, four women with nothing in common, had come together and over the course of a few months, they’d become real friends.

29
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Monday morning following her hair appointment, Jacqueline returned to the house to find that a local florist had delivered a dozen red roses. Martha, the housekeeper, had placed them in the center of the formal living room on a round coffee table.

“Who sent the roses?” she asked, stunned to find them.

Martha shook her head. “I didn’t read the card.”

Jacqueline walked into the living room and examined the red buds, gently taking one in her hand. The roses were perfect, still dewy and just ready to open. Their scent was so lovely, Jacqueline thought they must be antique roses. If so, they would’ve cost a fortune. She couldn’t imagine who’d be sending her roses or why.

She reached for the card but didn’t open the small envelope, wanting to linger over the suspense. It wasn’t her birthday or her wedding anniversary. Her husband had never had much of a memory for such events, anyway. In fact, Reese hadn’t sent her flowers in years. Paul was too much like his father to think of doing such a thing, especially when there was no obvious reason for it.

Unable to guess, she finally tore open the envelope, withdrew the card and read it.

Reese.

Her husband! There was no explanation, no message. Confused, Jacqueline sat down on the sofa, still holding the card. She found Martha staring at her, making no attempt to disguise her curiosity.

“Well?” the housekeeper asked.

“They’re from Reese.”

Martha beamed her a broad smile. “I thought so.”

Despite herself, Jacqueline smiled, too. Maybe her housekeeper knew more about her life than she did.

“Would you like me to start dinner for you this evening?” Martha asked as she turned toward the kitchen.

Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I believe I’ll cook tonight, Martha.”

The housekeeper didn’t so much as blink, but Jacqueline could tell she was surprised. Jacqueline rarely ventured into the kitchen, and hadn’t made a complete meal in years. Early in their marriage she’d found a chicken curry dish that Reese had particularly enjoyed. She’d torn the recipe out of a magazine. Jacqueline thought she knew where it was, although it’d been quite a while since she’d gone to the effort of preparing it.

“Martha, do we have any curry spices in the house?”

“I think so. Let me look for you.”

“Is there chicken in the freezer?”

“Should be.”

Jacqueline was only half listening. She moved past the housekeeper and into the kitchen, opening a bottom drawer where she kept her cookbooks. “Do you remember a recipe I had years ago for chicken curry?”

Martha frowned. “Can’t say I do. Are you going to be making a mess in my kitchen?”

Jacqueline smiled, biting back a retort that would have reminded the other woman whose kitchen this really was. “Don’t worry,” she assured Martha. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”

Martha nodded, but she still looked concerned.

After paging through six cookbooks, Jacqueline found the recipe in the back of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, together with a number of other loose recipes she’d collected over the years. Sitting down at the table, she wrote out a grocery list.

By the time Reese walked into the house at six o’clock, the kitchen was redolent with the scent of coconut milk, chicken, curry and yogurt.

“What’s this?” Reese asked, loosening his tie.

Jacqueline hadn’t heard him come in and whirled around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Dinner,” she announced cheerfully.

Forgetting herself, she walked over and kissed his cheek. “The roses are beautiful. Thank you.”

Reese’s eyes widened just a little. “I figured I owed you an apology,” he murmured. “I came down on you pretty hard about parking in the alley. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“You were worried about me. It’s a case of me running over the mailbox with the tractor.”

He frowned. “What?”

Jacqueline laughed and quickly retold Tammie Lee’s story. “That’s why her daddy hollered at her mama,” she concluded. “Twice.”

Reese chuckled and then to Jacqueline’s amazement, he kissed her. She was sure he only meant to brush her lips with his, but when their mouths met, something wonderful and exciting took hold of them both.

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Jacqueline slid her arms around her husband’s neck. Reese’s mouth was on hers, as avid as if they were new lovers.

Jacqueline lost all sense of time and didn’t know how long they remained locked in each other’s arms. When they broke apart they both seemed at a loss as to what to say or do next. This was by far their most passionate kiss in years.

What astonished her most was the zeal with which she’d responded to his kiss. She’d assumed that after years of celibacy, the sexual part of her nature had atrophied. It was a shock to realize just how alive—how sexual—she was capable of feeling.

“I’d better shower,” Reese said as he backed away from her. He seemed to be in a state of shock himself.

Jacqueline didn’t trust her voice enough to speak, so she merely nodded. Leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes.

“Wow,” she whispered to the empty room. Now that was something! Once she’d stopped trembling, she retrieved two dinner plates and set them on the dining room table.

When Reese returned from the shower, his hair damp, he’d donned slacks and a golf shirt. Jacqueline had just finished lighting the candles, pleased with her efforts. She could be domestic when called upon and today she’d rediscovered how much she actually enjoyed it.

“Can I do anything?” he asked.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. It was ridiculous to feel shy with her own husband of more than thirty years. She would never have expected this, but she felt as if that kiss was the first one they’d ever shared—as if their intimacy was completely unfamiliar. “Would you pour the wine?”

“Sure.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of chilled chardonnay, which he uncorked. After he’d poured them each a glass, he turned on the CD player.

Singing along to the soundtrack of Les Misérables, Jacqueline mounded rice on their plates and ladled on generous servings of curry. She carried the plates to the table, where Reese was waiting for her. He stood behind her chair and pulled it out, a courtesy he hadn’t bothered with in years.

“It’s a long time since you made me chicken curry,” he said when he was seated across from her. “It smells delicious—thank you.” He reached for his wineglass and raised it. “Shall I propose a toast?”

“Please.” Happiness settled over her until she was nearly giddy with it. Until now, Jacqueline had lost hope that they might recapture the love in their marriage. She felt light-headed with anticipation as she lifted her wineglass and touched the rim to his.

“To the future,” Reese said.

“The future,” she echoed.

After a sip of wine, Reese picked up his fork. Jacqueline held her breath while he tasted his first bite, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

She knew she’d succeeded when he closed his eyes and murmured a soft sigh of appreciation.

“It’s even better than I remember.”

Jacqueline relaxed and took her first taste. The curry was as good as she’d hoped. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure why she’d buried the recipe when she knew how much Reese enjoyed her meals—and how much she used to enjoy making them. Years earlier she’d done all their cooking, even for their many social events. More recently, she’d had her parties catered. She’d casually mentioned that in last week’s knitting class when they’d started talking about memorable meals. To her surprise, Alix had said she’d like her own catering company one day. Alix of all people! This was a rather unexpected revelation, but it made her wonder. She owed Alix….

“I have a small confession,” Reese said, breaking into her thoughts.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, but before she could stop him, he continued.

“You need to thank Tammie Lee for the roses. They were her idea.”

Jacqueline picked up her wine. “Well, I didn’t think you’d come up with that idea on your own.”

“To Tammie Lee,” Reese said, holding up his wineglass.

“To Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated.

The phone rang and she sighed.

“I’ll get it.” Reese was out of his chair before she could protest.

For once, just once, she wanted them to have a quiet dinner together. She wished now that she’d taken the phone off the hook.

Whoever was on the line certainly had Reese’s attention. His brow furrowed and he frowned and then nodded curtly. Replacing the receiver, he muttered, “I have to go.”

“Where?” Jacqueline asked before she would stop herself.

“Problems on the job.” He grabbed his car keys and was out the door. “I’m needed at one of the sites. Not Blossom Street—the Northgate project. It appears we blew a circuit and the entire block is without electricity.”

Sitting alone at the table, listening as Reese’s car engine roared to life, Jacqueline felt numb.

A moment later, she flung her napkin furiously onto her plate and walked over to the sink. She grabbed the counter with both hands, biting down hard on her lower lip.

“He’s needed at the site,” she repeated, her voice cracking. She knew exactly who’d phoned and exactly where he’d gone and it wasn’t to any job site.

30
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Sunday morning, Alix found herself standing on the same street corner she had for the last few weeks, watching as people filed through the church doors. Ordinary people, some wealthy and some not. People like those in her knitting group. People like Carol Girard and her husband.

Having lunch at Carol’s high-rise condo had been an eye-opening experience. Literally! The view was incredible, unlike anything she’d seen before. She might live in Seattle, but she certainly never saw it from this perspective. And Puget Sound was beyond fabulous. Alix felt as if she’d stepped right onto a page in one of those fancy home decorating magazines people left behind at the Laundromat. The condo itself was spacious. The furniture was simple and classic, and there were lots of warm, appealing touches. One thing was for sure. Alix had no intention of returning the invitation. She could just imagine what Carol would think if she saw the inside of her apartment. Especially now, since Laurel had taken to being even a bigger slob than usual.

Carol had made a lovely lunch of cold tomato soup—a Spanish recipe, she’d said—and a seafood salad. She’d set the table with beautiful matching dishes, complete with linen napkins. A few weeks ago Alix would have considered details like that pointless, but these days she was taking notice. This was exactly the type of thing she needed to know if she hoped to start her own business one day. Alix had been nervous at first, afraid she might commit some social blunder by using the wrong fork. If Jacqueline had been there, she would’ve been more worried, but Carol was a normal kind of person. Funny, with all that wealth, she still had her problems.

Everyone had problems, Alix now realized, even if they lived in gorgeous apartments with million-dollar views. Over lunch she and Carol covered a lot of subjects, and after a while, it felt just as if they were in the knitting group at Lydia’s shop. Alix had never expected to become friends with these women but that was exactly what had happened. Even with Jacqueline …

All of them encouraged her to pursue the relationship with Jordan.

Following the roller-skating party, Alix had seen him only once. He’d stopped by the video store to tell her he was going out of town. Apparently he was involved in a summer camp program and was driving some kids to eastern Washington. He’d mentioned sending her a postcard, but if he’d mailed one, she hadn’t received it. That had been on her mind ever since he’d gone away.

As she stood on the corner across from the Free Methodist church, the music drifted out the open doors. Alix recognized the song, which she’d heard several times before. For some reason she couldn’t identify, she boldly marched across the street and up the steps. As she did, she glanced around, half expecting someone to stop her.

She missed Jordan, and if walking into this church was the only way she could feel close to him, then she was doing it. Anyone who questioned her was in for one hell of a fight.

An usher looked in her direction, but she scowled at him with such ferocity that he backed off. She didn’t need anyone to tell her where to sit. Slipping into the last pew, she saw that people were standing and singing. She grabbed what she assumed was the hymnal and picked up a Bible instead. She wondered if anyone noticed. As casually as she could, she replaced the Bible and grabbed the red book, opening it to the number posted on a board at the front of the church.

The sanctuary was surprisingly crowded. Alix had no idea so many people actually attended services. Perhaps if her family had prayed together, they might have stayed together. Yeah, right! As a kid she’d done her fair share of praying and a lot of good that had done her. A familiar bitterness welled up inside. These kids were lucky. They had parents who cared about them. By her own choice, Alix was no longer in contact with her mother and hadn’t seen her father in years. He hadn’t even bothered to show up when Tom died. As she thought of her brother, her hand tightened around the hymnal. All Tom had ever wanted was someone to care about him. They’d both been cheated in that department; their father was more interested in drinking with his friends than he was in his children, and their mother was no better. Little wonder they’d had serious problems of their own, but Alix was determined to have a better life.

She studied the words printed on the page but didn’t sing. One of Alix’s fears was that she wouldn’t know when to stand or sit. That was the advantage of being in the back pew—she simply followed what everyone else was doing.

When the song ended, the congregation sat down and the minister, an older man, stepped up to the podium. Alix figured she’d leave after the sermon, afraid that if she stood up and walked out now, someone might be offended.

The minister preached from the Old Testament and the book of Nehemiah, which Alix had never heard of before. The sermon, about the ruined walls of Jerusalem and how they symbolized people’s lives, interested her, although she didn’t understand everything he said.

Alix was just getting ready to slip out of the pew when she saw Jordan walk to the front of the church. He was obviously back from summer camp, although he hadn’t come by the video store.

She tried to ignore the disappointment and the hurt. Seeing him in church wasn’t the only shock she received. Jordan wasn’t alone. A blond beauty came with him. The girl eyed Jordan like he was Jesus returning to collect His saints before Armageddon.

The two of them had handheld microphones. The music started, and their voices blended as if they’d been singing together their entire lives. Listening to their performance was more than Alix could bear. In an effort to exit the pew as fast as possible, she nearly stumbled over the feet of the woman next to her. Without looking back, she rushed out the door.

If she’d needed proof that she was deluding herself, this was it. Reeling, she ran into an alley. She closed her eyes and called herself every ugly name she’d ever heard. With her back against the brick wall, she slid down and hung her head.

Naturally Jordan would be singing in church with Miss America. And why not? He was a preacher’s kid; he’d been raised in the church. He’d never sat in a jail cell or stood before a judge. His parents had loved him, wanted him. She could just imagine what his daddy would say if he knew Jordan was hanging with her.

Alix squatted there, caught in a misery so deep she could barely move.

“Hey, Alix?”

A voice drifted into her awareness, and she glanced up to find Tyrone Houston, better known in the neighborhood as T-Bone, standing above her. He was a gang member and a known drug dealer. The last Alix had heard he was doing time. Apparently he was out.

“Whatcha doin’?” T-Bone demanded.

“Taking up space. You got a problem with that?” Normally no one flashed attitude to T-Bone and she could be risking her life. For a second, she wasn’t sure she cared.

“No problem. You interested in a party?” He gave her the once-over.

In her present frame of mind, Alix was in no mood for company.

“I got the stuff,” he said enticingly.

That meant he had a fresh supply of drugs. Probably meth or cocaine or any of a dozen different substances guaranteed to shut up the voices in her head.

“I could be,” Alix said. She’d been clean a long time—ever since her brother had overdosed—but she hated this dark ugly feeling eating at her gut. If she could swallow something to make her feel good, she wanted it because whatever T-Bone had was better than these awful voices.

The house was a couple of blocks away. Everyone in the area knew that if you needed a hit, T-bone would supply it—for a price, naturally. Alix didn’t know his sources, didn’t want to know.

When they stepped into the house, the shades were drawn and the room was dark. Five or six guys were lounging around and the air was thick with sweet-smelling smoke. Alix buried her hands in her leather jacket as she slowly surveyed the scene.

In one corner she noticed another girl sitting with a guy. His arm was wrapped around her and he appeared to be out of it, in a drug-induced haze. Alix looked again, harder this time. The girl seemed familiar, but Alix couldn’t figure out how she knew her. Working at the video store she saw a lot of people; while she might not remember names, she rarely forgot a face.

This girl hadn’t been in the video store, Alix was fairly certain of that. She was young, fourteen, possibly fifteen, and trying to look older. Alix knew the signs because a few years back she’d done the same thing.

Then it came to her. The girl was familiar because Alix had seen her at the roller-skating rink with Jordan. She was a church kid. The girl recognized Alix, too. She averted her gaze.

Anger surged through Alix. This kid didn’t belong here with a bunch of druggie losers.

She strolled to the sofa where the girl sat with her stoned boyfriend in a tangle of arms and legs. Alix sat down on the sofa arm and glared at them.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded of the girl.

The teenager glared back at Alix, her eyes full of defiance. “Same as you.”

The guy she was with rolled his head and pointed at Alix. “Who’s this, Lori?”

Yes, Alix remembered her now. Her name was Lori and she’d come with a couple of friends. Roller skating with church kids one month, doing drugs with criminals and losers the next. Quite a contrast.

Lori stared up at Alix, her face hard and her eyes cold. “This,” she said, sneering, “is no one.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Alix said as she came to her feet. “Sorry, we have to go now.” She grabbed Lori by the arm. The girl protested but let Alix pull her up.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Getting you outta here.”

“Like shit you are.”

“You don’t belong here any more than I do.”

“Baby?” Her boyfriend was so out of it he didn’t protest, which was good. T-Bone, however, wasn’t pleased. He blocked the door, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he focused narrowed eyes on Alix. Fear shivered down her spine. T-Bone could slit her throat if he perceived that she was hurting his business. He wouldn’t hesitate, either.

“She’s a church kid,” Alix said, meeting his gaze. “You keep her here and you’re gonna have a pack of little ol’ ladies marching outside your door, carrying signs and bringing the heat.”

T-Bone’s gaze shifted from Alix to Lori, who squirmed under his scrutiny.

“You want trouble, it’s up to you.” Alix raised both arms in a hands-off gesture.

“Get out,” he said to Alix, “and take her with you.”

Alix seized Lori’s upper arm and dragged her out of the house.

Once outside, Lori jerked her arm free. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she screamed.

“What am I doing?” Alix repeated, laughing. “What I’m doing, little girl, is saving your sorry ass.”

“I don’t need anyone to save me.”

Those words were almost identical to what she’d said when Jordan announced he was a youth minister. But they weren’t true for Lori—and maybe not for Alix, either. Lori had no idea what kind of danger she’d so blithely stepped into. She didn’t appreciate the risk Alix had taken by pulling her out, either. Alix’s knees shook when she realized what she’d done in standing up to T-Bone. It was time to make herself scarce.

“Go home,” Alix said.

Lori rolled her eyes and headed back into the house, only to be stopped at the door. Alix didn’t hear what was said but apparently Lori got the message and came scurrying out a moment later. She hurried down the street without a backward look.

With no place else to go, Alix returned to her apartment. Laurel was gone. In her unhappiness her roommate was eating everything in sight—and leaving the mess for Alix to clean up. She wondered if Laurel still fit into her jeans. She must’ve gained twenty pounds since her breakup with John. If Laurel wasn’t at work, scarfing potato chips on the sly, or at home, sitting in front of the television with her face in a bowl of ice cream, Alix didn’t know where she could be. But for once she was grateful to be alone.

Picking up her knitting, she heaved a sigh when she saw what she was doing and threw it down in disgust. Carol had given her the gray yarn and the pattern, as well as the work she’d already done. Alix had painstakingly continued the project, knitting a sweater for Jordan. Yeah, right, like he cared. Like anyone did.

Lying on the sofa, Alix stared at the ceiling for an hour before she was scheduled to work. The video store did good business on Sunday afternoons and she was kept busy, especially when Laurel didn’t bother to make an appearance, even though her name was on the schedule to work with Alix.

An hour into her shift, Jordan walked into the store. Alix’s heart reacted instantly and that infuriated her. As effectively as she could, she ignored him.

“Alix,” he said.

“You’re back.” She made sure he knew it wasn’t any big thing to her.

“Is something wrong?”

She shrugged and handed two videos to the customer at the register, offering him a wide smile. When she turned her attention to Jordan, the smile was gone. “Should there be?”

He frowned. “I was hoping we could get together tonight.”

She considered his invitation. Part of her was shrieking with excitement and another part, the part that insisted she get over him, was saying something else.

“Who’s Miss America?” she asked coldly.

“What?” Jordan said, blinking in confusion.

“You sang with her this morning.”

His eyes widened. “You were in church?”

“Long enough to see you and Miss America smiling at each other. You seem to be very good friends.”

“We are.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“Can I get some help here?” the next customer at the counter asked.

Alix reached for his videos and typed in the codes before taking his money. She gave him his change and smiled sweetly in his direction. Once again she returned her attention to Jordan, making sure there was no evidence of pleasure at seeing him.

Jordan frowned. “You’re jealous of Pastor Sutton’s seventeen-year-old daughter?”

The girl was only seventeen? From the back of the church it was hard to tell. Still …

“I don’t have time to put up with petty jealousy. If you want to be angry with me, then fine. But I’ve got better things to do.”

Alix was about to answer when he whirled around and left the store.

31
CHAPTER

“If you can count the number of projects you have going, you need to begin another, so you have a varied range of complexity, from the very simple ‘mindless’ ones to those that demand undivided attention.”

—Laura Early, lifetime knitter

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I’ve spent so much time in doctors’ offices that over the years I’ve come to dread even the most routine appointments. It’s almost always the same. I sit in an uncomfortable chair in a waiting room full of strangers and we all avoid looking at one another. Generally, I bring my knitting or I flip through magazines that are months if not years old.

The one advantage of being in Dr. Wilson’s office is that after all this time the staff have become practically as familiar as family, especially Peggy, Dr. Wilson’s nurse.

Peggy was working for Dr. Wilson when I came in for my first appointment, nearly fifteen years ago. I remember when she was pregnant, not once but twice. I vividly recall wondering if I’d be alive to see her second baby. The thing with cancer is that you learn to take nothing for granted. Not one day, not one season, not even a minute. At sixteen I wanted to make it to seventeen so I could attend the Junior-Senior Prom. I survived, but no one asked me to the prom.

“Lydia.” Peggy stood in the doorway holding my chart, which must weigh twenty pounds. My medical history was filled with details, of symptoms and procedures, as well as documentation of the different medications I’d taken.

When I got up, it seemed that every eye in the waiting room was on me. If I’d been the type of person to grandstand, I would’ve leaped to my feet and announced I was a two-time winner in the lottery of life. Having a more subdued nature, however, I calmly stuffed my knitting into my quilted bag and followed Peggy.

“How are you doing?” Peggy asked after she’d weighed me and made a notation on the chart.

“Great.” I stepped off the scale and sighed with relief to note that my weight was within a couple of pounds of my last visit. Peggy led me to the cubicle at the far end of the hallway, where she thrust a disposable thermometer under my tongue and reached for my wrist. She stared at her watch and quickly made a second notation on my chart. “Good strong heartbeat,” she said, sounding pleased.

I should hope so; my insurance company had paid plenty for the privilege of having that heartbeat. I would’ve told her as much but talking wasn’t an option at the moment.

Peggy was pumping the blood-pressure cuff, which she’d wrapped around my upper arm. It grew uncomfortably tight before she released it. When she’d finished listening, she nodded. “Very good.”

At last she removed the thermometer. “You’re feeling well?”

“I feel fabulous.”

Peggy smiled. “There’s a sparkle in your eyes. You’ve met someone, haven’t you?”

“Oh, hardly.” I brushed aside her insight, but found I really did want to tell her about Brad. I didn’t, because there wasn’t that much to tell. Not yet, anyway. We’d met for drinks twice, talked on the phone two or three times a week, sometimes for an hour or more. He came by the shop at least once during the course of a week and occasionally—no, more than occasionally—we kissed.

Brad and I were only beginning to know each other. We weren’t serious, weren’t even close to being serious. Brad was deeply involved in his son’s life and I was deeply involved in my business. We were friends in the same way I was friends with Carol Girard. Okay, maybe not exactly the same way, but nevertheless friends. For now, that was comfortable for me and apparently for him, too.

“Have you met someone?” Peggy asked again.

I nodded hesitantly.

I thought she was ready to burst into applause. “I always knew you would,” she said with a smile of delight.

“Oh, honestly, Peggy, I’m thirty years old.”

“And your point is?”

It was embarrassing to be this transparent, especially at my age, but that’s another aspect of having had cancer as a teenager. My social maturity seemed stuck where it was the day I got my driver’s license. Social development is delayed for those of us who are detoured by the fight for life. I don’t want to sound like I’m feeling sorry for myself because I’m not; this is a simple fact that needs to be taken into account in relationships.

I knew the routine visits well enough to know that the next part was to stretch out my arm for Peggy to extract vial after vial of my blood. I once teased her that I should be paid for the amount she collected. Not one vial but four, two large and two small.

I barely blinked as the needle pricked my skin. In the beginning, though, I used to get dizzy with fear at the sight of a needle. Once I nearly fainted, but that was years ago. Compared to some of the procedures I’ve endured, having my blood drawn is kid’s play.

Peggy paused to exchange a full tube for an empty one and glanced up.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look happier.”

“I am happy,” I assured her. My new happiness had come about for several reasons. Opening my shop played a big role in how I felt and so, of course, did meeting Brad. A Good Yarn was my affirmation of life and allowing myself to get involved with Brad was an additional act of faith.

“I’m so pleased for you.” Peggy repeated the process with the tubes and then wrote my name on each one. “I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.”

I nodded.

She walked out to the front with me and got someone else’s file.

My spirits were high as I strolled out of the doctor’s office. It was a glorious August afternoon and while the store was closed on Mondays, I could think of nowhere else I’d rather be. I truly loved my shop. It gave me pleasure just to be there with all the yarn around me. There’s something completely satisfying about standing in the middle of a store that only a few months earlier was little more than a dream.

I had on a sleeveless summer dress made of seersucker with a pretty white eyelet collar. The dress was a favorite of mine, and yes, I’ll admit it, I hoped that if I ventured into my shop I might accidentally-on-purpose run into Brad. He made deliveries in the neighborhood on Mondays and he always knocked on my door if he saw I was there.

Listening to the radio, I kept an eye on the windows in case he happened to drive past. Blossom Street was open to traffic now and this had dramatically increased business. Lots of people came to the neighborhood just to see the changes. The stores along both sides of the street had put out their welcome mats.

The construction directly across from me appeared to be nearly finished, although there seemed to be plenty of men in hard hats still parading around. I wasn’t sure when everything was officially scheduled to be completed, but I knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

Just as I’d hoped, Brad’s dark-brown delivery truck came into view. It was all I could do not to stand like a mannequin in the window. It was even harder to resist the urge to jump up and down and wave my arms. I did neither, but I was definitely tempted. I was in just that silly, quirky frame of mind.

I saw my man-in-brown leap out of his truck with a couple of packages for the floral shop next door. I didn’t know if he’d seen me or not until he came out with a single long-stemmed red rose. I waved despite my resolve not to and he winked at me.

Unlocking the front door, I let him into the shop. “For me?” I asked.

“It’ll cost ya,” Brad teased.

“Name your price?”

“A kiss,” he said, grinning boyishly. “Maybe two.”

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I blushed. He took me by the hand and led me behind a tall shelf filled with worsted yarn. At least there we had a bit of privacy.

“How’d the doctor’s visit go?”

“I didn’t even see him. It was for routine blood tests.”

“Are you nervous?”

I shook my head. Maybe I should’ve been, but the cancer had left me alone for a long time now and after a certain period you can’t help growing a little confident. More than that, I felt too good to be sick again and showed none of the symptoms I had in the past other than an occasional migraine. Besides, for the first time in years, I was truly hopeful for the future.

“I’m free on Saturday night.” Brad was looking down at me, his eyes so intense and provocative it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“That’s nice.”

“How about if I take you to dinner and a movie?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Anyplace you want to eat, as long as it isn’t McDonald’s.”

I smiled again. Cody was a big fan of their cheeseburgers, and Brad was thoroughly tired of fast food.

“You got it. Anyplace but McDonald’s.”

Then, with such ease I was barely aware of what he was doing, Brad brought me into his arms and kissed me. The earth didn’t move, the sky didn’t fall, but I swear I felt that kiss from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. If a man could make me feel all that with a simple kiss, I could only imagine what it would be like if—when—we made love. I closed my eyes, wanting to hold on to this wonderful feeling as long as I could.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

“It’s my perfume.” I let my head fall back and he spread small kisses along my throat. I was practically purring like Whiskers, my cat, when he lies on the windowsill, basking in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t care what it is, just promise to wear the same one on Saturday night, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, and he kissed me again. Neither of us wanted to stop, but he was still on the clock and we knew it had to end. When he released me I felt his reluctance as keenly as my own. A girl could get mighty accustomed to Brad’s kind of kisses.

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday evening, all right?”

“Perfect,” I told him.

In that moment, “perfect” was how I’d describe my life.

32
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

The critical first three weeks following embryo transfer had passed and so far so good. Carol was a full five weeks pregnant now and felt every aspect of this pregnancy in a way few women ever would.

After talking to her mother in Oregon for twenty minutes, she hung up the receiver and fixed herself a healthy lunch of cottage cheese and fresh fruit. Carol had never been fond of cottage cheese, and this was her way of announcing to the universe that she was willing to suffer for the sake of her baby. No sacrifice was too great. When her child was born, she wanted to know she’d done everything possible to give him or her a good start in life.

Smiling, Carol scooped cottage cheese onto a plate, then added sliced pineapple. She’d heard from one of the women in her online support group that a substance in pineapple was believed to improve the chances of an embryo attaching to the uterus.

The phone rang as the fork was halfway to her mouth. She lowered it and reached for the receiver.

It was Doug. Normally he was too busy to phone from work, but he’d made a habit of calling her at least once a day since the last IVF.

“I just spoke with Mom,” she told him.

“What’s new with her?”

“She and Dad want to buy us a crib.”

“Did you tell her we already have one?”

“I didn’t have the heart.” Three weeks after the procedure, Carol had gotten a Bon-Macy’s flyer advertising baby furniture. That night she’d dragged Doug to the department store and, giddy with excitement, they’d purchased everything they could possibly need for a nursery.

“So we’re going to have two cribs?”

“I could be having twins.”

Doug chuckled and it was the unrestrained laugh she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He so rarely laughed like that anymore, and she knew beyond a doubt that her pregnancy explained his joy.

“Besides, I was thinking that if we can’t use the crib, maybe she could give it to Rick.” She hated to put an end to her husband’s fun-loving mood, but her brother would be presenting their parents with another grandchild a few weeks before Carol was due to deliver.

“Have you heard from him lately?” Doug asked.

“Not a word.”

“I take it he hasn’t mentioned anything to your parents?”

“Not that I can tell, but I don’t dare ask about it, either.”

“You’re right—it’s not your place.”

She sank back into her chair. “I hope Rick does the proper thing and marries this woman.”

Doug hesitated. “From what you told me, he’s already decided against that.”

“But there’s a baby involved.”

“I know that, but I also know Rick.”

Carol sighed. She wondered what her parents would say when they heard about the situation. Her mother was waiting impatiently for grandchildren. She’d be thrilled whether Rick was married to the woman or not, but she’d prefer it if Rick gave the child his name.

“I’m having cottage cheese for lunch,” she told Doug. He’d appreciate her sacrifice.

“I hope the baby likes it,” Doug teased.

“I hope so, too.”

They chatted for a few more minutes and then Carol went back to her sacrificial lunch.

She lost the baby later that afternoon.

Just when the dream had started to become a reality … Just when she’d given herself permission to believe … Just when she was so sure everything had gone according to plan.

At four in the afternoon the spotting started. The instant she saw the blood, she thought she’d faint. Severe cramping followed and there was no longer any doubt. She’d miscarried.

“No,” she whispered, clenching her fists at her sides. “Please no … please, oh please.” Her throat was thick with tears. She sat on the end of her bed and covered her eyes.

The routine should be standard by now. After phoning the doctor’s office, she collected her purse. She didn’t call Doug, couldn’t ruin the rest of his day. She’d give him the afternoon before she shattered his life with the news that there would be no baby for them.

When Dr. Ford examined her, he confirmed what she already knew. Her body had rejected the fetus. The baby was dead, expelled from her womb. Dr. Ford was sympathetic and concerned. After she’d dressed, he gently squeezed her arm.

“I’m sorry.”

Emotionless, Carol stared straight ahead.

“Would you like one of my staff to phone Doug for you?”

She shook her head.

“Is there anyone you’d like me to call?”

His words sounded slurred to Carol as her mind struggled to comprehend each one. She was drowning in a sea of pain. Functioning normally was impossible just then.

“I want my mother,” she whispered. Her body had rejected three pregnancies now, and there wouldn’t be another chance. This was the end for her and Doug. It was over.

“Can I have someone phone her?”

She looked up at him, wondering who he meant, and realized he was asking about her mother. Carol shook her head. “She lives in Oregon.”

Dr. Ford said a bit more, offered his condolences and after a few minutes left her. Carol slipped off the examination table, dressed and went out the door. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. She started walking—a slow, shambling walk, without purpose—and before long found herself on the waterfront near the Seattle Aquarium. Tourists crowded the sidewalk and she felt like a boulder in a stream, disrupting the flow of traffic as men, women and children darted around her.

When she was finally too tired to move, she sat down on a bench. The tears came then. Hoarse, painful sobs from the depths of her soul. She’d failed again. Disappointed her husband, disappointed her parents and everyone who’d believed in her.

Her cell phone rang and why she should be so angry with it, Carol didn’t know. Without checking to see who might be calling her, she grabbed it from her purse and threw it into the street. She felt a sense of grim satisfaction as a city bus passed by and drove directly over it. All that was left was a flattened piece of plastic with wires protruding.

“Is everything all right, miss?” a young police officer stepped up to ask her.

“No,” she said, her face streaked with tears and her eyes dull with pain. “Nothing is right.” She understood then that someone must have seen her and thought she needed help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything the policeman or anyone else could do for her.

“Should I call someone?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

She stood, needing to escape. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t help me. No one can.” If she didn’t leave now, she might end up in Emergency or even the Psych ward. Escape became key, so she started walking again. Walking and walking and walking.

It was dark when she discovered she was miles from home. Doug must be frantic by now but she couldn’t face him yet, couldn’t watch the look in his eyes when he learned there wasn’t a baby anymore.

An hour later, Carol took a taxi home.

When she walked in the door, Doug nearly flew across the room. “Where the hell were you?”

“I lost the baby.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “I lost the baby.”

“I know,” Doug whispered and wrapped her in his arms.

Carol was weeping again, unable to stop. The tears came from deep inside her, sobs that wrenched her soul. This was an agony that could be understood only by those who’d experienced such a loss. It felt as if her beating heart had been ripped from her chest, as if she would never again know joy or happiness or anything good. Her future stretched before her, bleak and without hope.

“I so badly wanted to have our child,” she sobbed into her husband’s arms.

Doug held her tightly in his embrace, his head against her shoulder. Then she realized he was weeping, too. They clung to each other, neither able to offer anything to the other. Empty, bereaved, in agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “So sorry.”

“I know … I know.”

“I love you.”

He nodded.

“I tried so hard …” She couldn’t think of anything she might have done differently, any effort she hadn’t made.

“I’ll always love you,” Doug assured her.

Exhausted, Carol showered and went to bed and with Doug’s arms around her, she fell into a deep sleep.

At three, she woke with pain heavy upon her chest and remembered there was no longer a child growing in her womb. The tears came fresh, stinging her eyes.

Slipping out of bed, she walked into the nursery and stood in the middle of the darkened room. She curled her fingers around the end of the crib and bit her lower lip hard to hold back the sobs.

It was then that she noticed the wall. She squinted, certain she was seeing things. Flicking on the light switch, she looked again. Her knees went weak and she sagged to the floor as she stared at the place where her husband’s fist had gone through the wall.

33
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Friday afternoon Jacqueline arrived at A Good Yarn, her usual five minutes after starting time. Being “fashionably late” was a habit she’d picked up long ago and seemed unable to break. To her surprise, Carol was missing. Alix was slouched down in her chair with a morose look on her face.

“Where’s Carol?” she asked Lydia, who stood at the end of the table, knitting needles in hand. Lydia carried her yarn and needles around with her, so her hands were constantly busy.

“Carol decided to stay home this afternoon,” Lydia explained. “I’m afraid she had bad news. She lost the baby.”

Jacqueline had feared as much. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s taking a few days to regroup, but I hope she’ll be back.”

Jacqueline nodded; she felt terrible for Carol. The other woman’s desire for a child was so strong it verged on desperation. Jacqueline was worried about her and hoped Carol could, somehow, rebound from the loss. She recalled her own bitter disappointment over her inability to give birth to a second child, but at least she’d been able to have Paul. The likelihood that Carol and Doug would get a baby through adoption was slim. Jacqueline sighed. This was a sad turn of events, and there wasn’t a thing any of them could do.

“I’m afraid we might lose Carol,” Lydia said.

“Why? What do you mean?” Alix asked, anxiety in her voice.

“She didn’t say anything, but I think she might be returning to work. The only reason she quit was for the baby, and she told me a couple of weeks ago that the brokerage firm would like her to come back.”

Alix looked, if anything, even more dejected.

Jacqueline wondered what was bothering her so much. Worry about Carol was obviously part of it, but Jacqueline sensed that something else was wrong.

“How are you, Alix?” Jacqueline murmured, reaching inside her bag for her knitting. She was working on a scarf for her son. It was a lovely worsted wool, the same brown shade as a pony Paul had loved as a child. Jacqueline wondered if her son would remember Brownie and make the connection.

“Hi,” Alix murmured, keeping her head lowered.

Jacqueline looked to Lydia, who shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what was wrong, either. The shop grew quiet, the silence broken only by traffic noises from outside.

Alix glanced up, and Jacqueline saw that she was no longer working on the man’s sweater she’d taken over from Carol. In fact, she was knitting something entirely different.

“What’s your problem?” Jacqueline asked bluntly.

“That’s my business.” Alix’s eyes flared to life as if she’d welcome a verbal confrontation.

“Man trouble if I’ve ever seen it,” Jacqueline announced to Lydia, who grinned slightly and nodded in agreement.

Alix’s mouth thinned but she didn’t take the bait.

“My guess is it involves that minister you’re dating.”

“We weren’t dating…. We were just friends.”

“Past tense?” Lydia pried gently. “You aren’t seeing him anymore?”

“I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s got more than one friend, if you know what I mean.”

“You saw him with someone else,” Jacqueline guessed.

Alix’s head was so low her chin sank into her chest when she nodded.

“Someone pretty,” she mumbled. “And blond.” The girl in church.

“Naturally,” Jacqueline added. She’d always imagined that Reese’s mistress was blond, and regarded with suspicion any blonde who came near him. Not that she cared, she told herself, but Jacqueline had to admit she occasionally wondered what the woman looked like. At the same time, she didn’t want to know. In fact, she usually tried not to think about her at all.

Jacqueline’s marriage, what was left of it, had been strained since the night Reese had walked out on their dinner. She hadn’t forgiven him; more than that, she’d avoided him.

Reese hadn’t made any effort to bridge the gap, either. Apparently, finding his roses stuffed in the garbage the next morning had been message enough.

The three of them sat knitting together in silence. Lydia had to put her own knitting aside twice to help customers, and that left Jacqueline alone with Alix.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure what prompted the idea, but once it took hold in her mind, it refused to leave.

“I owe you a favor,” she announced with some fanfare.

“For what?”

Jacqueline was astonished that Alix had forgotten. “Dear girl, you might very well have saved my life.”

A hint of a smile came and then quickly vanished. Alix shrugged as if her stepping into the alley that day and standing up to those hoodlums was just a routine incident. An ordinary, everyday event.

“It’s time I repaid your kindness,” she said decisively.

Alix was plainly curious. “How?”

“I think,” Jacqueline said with flair, “that we’ll go for a complete makeover. My treat, naturally.”

“A what?”

“A beauty treatment.”

Alix frowned. “What good’s that going to do?”

“It might get you noticed by a certain young man.”

“What kind of beauty treatment?” Alix tried to disguise her interest, but she didn’t fool Jacqueline.

“We’d start with your hair.” Jacqueline examined the purple-tinted ends with a critical eye and resisted the urge to cringe. That dreadful color had to go. Motioning with her hand, she offered a few suggestions. “Get it cut and styled. Perhaps dye it a different color.”

“Only if I like it,” the girl said warily.

“Of course!”

“Any color I want?”

“Within reason.”

Alix made a careless movement with her shoulders. “I suppose that would be all right.” She acted as if she was doing Jacqueline a favor. Two months ago Jacqueline would have taken offense at that but now she knew it was simply posturing.

“I’d like to take you to my fashion consultant and—”

Alix was shaking her head even before Jacqueline had finished the sentence. “I don’t need any advice on how to dress.”

“Whatever you say, but I do think we should get you a couple of new outfits.”

Still Alix hesitated, but then she gave a halfhearted nod. “Your treat?”

“Of course.”

“I guess it’s okay. When do you want to do this?” She asked as if her social calendar was full.

“Soon.” Jacqueline set aside her knitting and retrieved her cell phone. “I’ll call Desiree right now. She’s the best hairdresser in town. It sometimes takes weeks to get an appointment.”

“Okay.” Alix couldn’t hide her eagerness now. She sat up straight, nibbling on her lower lip.

“I need an appointment with Desiree ASAP,” Jacqueline said, hoping the receptionist caught the hint of urgency in her voice. Desiree was a top beautician and the prices she charged were enough to perm Jacqueline’s hair without chemicals. Still, she was worth every penny because of the miracles she performed. All the women at the country club went to her, and if they didn’t, they wanted to.

Jacqueline waited impatiently while the receptionist put her on hold. It seemed forever before she returned. “Desiree says she’ll stay late this evening if you can be here by four-thirty.”

“Four-thirty?” She glanced at Alix, who nodded. “We’ll be there,” Jacqueline crowed triumphantly. She turned off the cell and placed it inside her purse. She felt certain that Alix didn’t realize her good fortune. Jacqueline had to book her haircuts a month in advance.

Lydia was back, and although she hadn’t heard a lot of the conversation, she seemed to understand what was happening and nodded in approval. Jacqueline was on a mission now, confident that with a change in wardrobe and a decent haircut she could turn Alix into an attractive young woman. A thrill of excitement went through her. This was going to be fun.

As soon as the knitting session was over, Jacqueline took Alix to Nordstrom for a new outfit. She purchased her own designer clothes at the Seattle-based department store, where one particular sales clerk had been in charge of Jacqueline’s wardrobe for years.

Victoria took one look at Alix and immediately went to work. Jacqueline accompanied the girl into the dressing room and was shocked at her lack of proper intimate apparel. She insisted on new bras and panties first, and none of those ridiculous and indecent thongs, either.

Alix made a fuss, but it didn’t last long. Still, while Jacqueline might have won that battle, Alix was the undisputed victor when it came to the war. She refused to even try on the St. John knitted suit or anything else Victoria delivered.

Considering the limited time available today, Jacqueline had to be content with buying Alix good-quality underwear. Before she was through, she swore she’d get her into something tasteful.

Unfortunately, the trip to the hairdresser didn’t go much better. Desiree gasped at Alix’s purple-tinged hair and started swearing in French. Even after years of high school and college French classes, Jacqueline couldn’t understand what the woman said. But judging by the tone of her remarks, it was preferable not to attempt a translation.

Jacqueline sat in the waiting area and sipped coffee while a verbal skirmish occurred in the background. Fortunately, most of the shop’s elite clientele had already departed; otherwise, their ears would’ve been assaulted by the ongoing exchange between Alix and Desiree.

Ninety minutes after they arrived, Alix flew to the front of the salon as if she’d just been released from prison. Jacqueline hardly recognized her. Gone was the tar-black hair with the eggplant-purple highlights. Instead, Alix’s hair was a soft shade of brown with a reddish tinge that was similar to the yarn she’d chosen for Paul’s scarf.

“Alix,” she said, coming to her feet. Once again, Desiree had performed a miracle. Not only had she colored Alix’s hair but she’d styled it in a froth of curls.

“I hate it,” the girl cried as she ran her fingers through her hair, disarranging it. “This isn’t me.”

“No, my dear,” Jacqueline said patiently, “this is a new you.”

For a moment it seemed Alix was about to burst into tears. “I look like … like one of the Brady Bunch,” she moaned.

“You look lovely.”

“Greg,” she cried. “I look like Greg from the Brady Bunch.”

“You’re being silly,” Jacqueline said sharply.

“I’m not! Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

The girl was making absolutely no sense. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I know you meant well, but this just isn’t me…. It just isn’t me.”

Without a word of gratitude, Alix stormed out of the salon, leaving Jacqueline speechless.

“Where did you ever meet such a girl?” Desiree asked, shaking her head.

“It’s a long story,” Jacqueline murmured, discouraged now. She’d wanted to do something nice for Alix, something kind to show her appreciation, and she’d failed.

When she got back to the house, she discovered Reese in the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she hurried past him to her own area of the house.

Jacqueline was surprised at his question. They hadn’t spoken, other than to exchange basic household information, for days now. Another time she might have pretended not to hear, but tonight she was hurt and confused, and couldn’t hide it.

She didn’t know how her good intentions toward Alix could have gone so badly awry. Sitting down at the kitchen table, she accepted the glass of wine Reese brought her and launched into an explanation of her adventure with Alix.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong!” Jacqueline said hopelessly.

“How old is Alix?” Reese asked.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure. “Early twenties, I suppose.”

“You were trying to make her into another you, Jacquie.”

“I most certainly was not,” she cried, angry that Reese was so ready to find fault with her. She should’ve known better than to confide in him.

Then, at once, she realized he was right. She’d taken Alix to her salesclerk and her hairdresser. She met his gaze and slowly nodded. “Perhaps I was.”

“Next time, ask Tammie Lee to give you a few suggestions.”

“Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated and automatically shook her head. “She couldn’t do any better than me.”

“Maybe not, but she’s closer to Alix’s age and might have a few ideas.”

“I suppose I could ask her,” she said. Her daughter-in-law might not do better, but she certainly wouldn’t do any worse than Jacqueline had.

34
CHAPTER

“Knitting goes with us, it calms us.”

—Morgan Hicks, Sweaters by Design

LYDIA HOFFMAN

When I didn’t hear from Dr. Wilson’s office by the end of the week, I didn’t think anything of it. Generally Peggy calls patients with their test results while the office is officially closed for lunch. From experience, I knew that if I needed a prescription refilled, I needed to contact Dr. Wilson’s office before eleven.

When I opened the shop on Tuesday morning, it occurred to me fleetingly that I hadn’t heard back from Peggy. Of course, she might have tried to reach me on Monday, but with the shop closed she would’ve gotten the answering machine. I realized I hadn’t given her my new phone number and the only way she had of getting hold of me was through the shop. I checked as soon as I’d flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, but found no messages.

I thought of it later and meant to phone the office myself, but was interrupted in the most pleasant manner possible. Brad stopped in on what he termed his coffee break.

My heart continued to do leaps of joy whenever he walked into the shop. We’d gone out to dinner twice in the last week and were together for much of Sunday afternoon. Cody spent the weekend with his mother who was often away on business, and this was a rare treat for us, even though I really enjoy Cody. He’s a lively little boy with a quirky sense of humor. He asked me to knit him a sweater with a dinosaur on the front, and I said I would.

“Hi there, handsome,” I said as Brad let himself into the shop. He dazzled me with one of his smiles.

“Have you got coffee made?” he asked when it seemed I was capable of doing nothing but staring at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Not yet,” I said. “I barely got here.”

“I’ll put on a pot.” He headed for the back room, where we’d escaped any number of times for a private moment.

We both knew his coffee-making ploy was just an excuse for the two of us to be alone. I followed him on the pretense of helping, but the instant I walked past the floral curtain that served as a door, Brad placed his arms around my waist and pulled me close.

“I had a wonderful weekend,” he whispered with his hands locked at the small of my back.

“I did, too.” We’d gone for a canoe ride on Lake Washington and halfway across he’d brought out a guitar and attempted to serenade me. It was truly romantic and quite possibly the sweetest thing any man had ever done for me. “Just promise you’ll never sing to me again.”

“You don’t like my baritone?” He jutted out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“No,” I said. “That’s not it. I love your singing, but I’m in serious danger of falling in love with you.” That wasn’t what I’d intended to say, but it seemed my heart had its own purpose.

“That’s what I want, Lydia.” He brought me closer still and kissed me with such energy and need that I was afraid I might collapse at his feet. We’d explored the attraction between us quite a bit over the weekend. I recognized that we’d reached a decision point in the relationship. It would be easy for this attraction to slip into the physical. Before that happened, though, I needed to be absolutely sure we shared the same values and life goals.

Margaret had warned me—and my mother had spoken her piece, too—about the importance of taking the relationship slow. I knew they were both right, but I felt so good in Brad’s arms.

“I want to be with you more and more,” Brad said. “You’re the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning and the last thing on my mind at night.”

He was in my thoughts day and night, too, and to be honest, it frightened me. Twice before, I’d been in promising relationships. The first time I’d been too young to really understand what I’d lost when Brian and I broke up after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

It was a different story with Roger, who broke my heart. I wanted to die when he walked out on me and in retrospect, I see that was exactly what I assumed would happen. Time is a great healer, as the old saying has it, and I understand now, almost six years later, why Roger left when he did. He loved me. I truly believe that. Because he loved me, he couldn’t bear to watch me die. He reacted the only way he knew how—by running away.

I heard that he got married just four months after we broke up. I tried not to think about him, but every now and then I felt a twinge of sadness. I didn’t want any regrets with me and Brad, no matter where the relationship took us.

“You’re very quiet.” He tenderly brushed the hair from my forehead as he looked down at me.

“We need to go slow,” I said. I’d told him about Brian and Roger, and just about everything else in my life there was to tell. He’d already known the basic facts, the outline of my emotional history, but I’d filled in the details when we were in the canoe. I’d leaned against him and gazed out over the beautiful green water of Lake Washington as we drifted. Brad had his arms around me. I found it easier to talk about my lost loves when I wasn’t facing him.

In turn, Brad described his marriage, and said he felt he’d failed Janice, his ex-wife. That was something I couldn’t understand, although I understood the impulse to assume blame. It’s part of the same impulse that makes us believe we’re responsible for everything that happens in a relationship or a family. But I’ve learned we can’t control other people’s feelings….

“What about dinner Friday night?” he asked now. He kissed me before I could respond.

The phone rang and I sighed with annoyance. “Hold that thought,” I whispered, easing myself out of his arms.

I hurried to the phone and grabbed it just before the answering machine kicked in. “A Good Yarn,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray what I’d been doing a moment or so earlier.

“Lydia, this is Peggy from Dr. Wilson’s office.”

“Oh, hi, Peggy,” I said, glad to have finally heard from her. “I was wondering when you’d contact me.”

“I meant to call on Friday.”

“That’s fine. I was busy all day.”

She hesitated and perhaps I should’ve caught it then, but I didn’t.

“I should have phoned,” Peggy said.

By now I’d detected reluctance in her voice.

“Bad news?” If it was, I didn’t want her to delay it a second longer. She’d given me the weekend as a gift and instinctively I realized that without her having to put it into words.

“I tried to call yesterday,” she murmured, “but then I remembered your shop’s closed on Mondays, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t leave a message.” The reason was obvious now. The news she had to give me couldn’t be left on an answering machine.

“No,” she said, her voice uneasy.

“What is it?” I asked, steeling myself for the worst.

“Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry. Dr. Wilson looked over your bloodwork and he’s scheduled a series of X-rays for you. He’d also like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience.”

“All right.” It went without saying that the cancer was back. Another tumor was forming in my brain even as Peggy spoke. It was growing back and nothing would stop it this time, no surgery, no drugs, nothing. Had I been alone, I would have insisted Peggy tell me the worst of it then and there. But I couldn’t do that with Brad in hearing distance.

“Can I make you an appointment with the radiologist for tomorrow morning at eight?”

“Fine,” I mumbled.

“Dr. Wilson will want you to bring the X-rays for an appointment here at nine.”

“Okay.” I was numb. I’d been given this reprieve of six years and I felt cheated not to have more. I wanted so many more.

Twice now, my father had been my strength, but this time he was gone and I was alone. Mom was incapable and Margaret would be furious when she heard this. I couldn’t help believing that my sister would find some way to blame me for the return of my tumor. She’d say my need for sympathy had encouraged its growth. I almost groaned as I imagined her reaction.

“Bad news?” Brad asked when I replaced the receiver.

I hadn’t noticed he was no longer in the back room. The coffee had obviously finished brewing because he held a mug in his hand.

“No,” I lied. “But unfortunately I won’t be able to make dinner on Friday.”

“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” How I managed to smile I’ll never know, but I did, gazing up at him with a look worthy of an acting award.

Brad left soon afterward and if he suspected anything was wrong, he didn’t let on. I’d give it an hour or two, then phone him on his cell and make sure he understood that our relationship was over. I knew I was taking the coward’s way out, but I didn’t want to argue about it or discuss the details with him. I didn’t want to hold out false hope or have it held out to me. Experience is the best teacher. I would make it easy on Brad and save him the trouble later.

Just when I’d begun to feel that I had a real chance at life, it was being snatched away from me—again. I knew this routine, having lived it. The tests come back with questionable results. A consultation is followed by even more tests, extensive ones that require an overnight stay in the hospital.

Then the prognosis is delivered by a grim-faced Dr. Wilson, who would squeeze my hand before he left the hospital room.

I’d always wondered what that little gesture was supposed to mean. At first I thought Dr. Wilson was telling me to be brave. To fight the good fight, to give this battle my all. Now I know differently. He was telling me how sorry he was. He’s only human, and there’s only so much he can do.

As soon as I could, I’d break all ties with Brad. Someday he’d understand and while he might not thank me now, I knew he would later.

35
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

It’d been a week since Carol’s miscarriage. Doug slept soundly beside her, but she was wide awake. Staring at the digital display on the clock radio, she saw that it was 3:27 a.m. Knowing it would be impossible to fall back asleep, she stole quietly out of bed. Walking blindly in the dark, she made her way into the silent living room.

All her lost dreams, all her and Doug’s abandoned plans for the future, fell upon her like a collapsing building. There would be no baby. She wouldn’t cuddle an infant in her arms or know the joy of nursing her own baby at her breast.

An entire seven days had passed since the miscarriage and, other than that first dreadful night, Carol hadn’t stepped foot inside the baby’s nursery. She couldn’t; it was just too painful. The door had remained closed, and she was sure Doug hadn’t gone in there, either.

Over dinner last evening, he’d suggested they call the department store and arrange to have the baby furniture returned. They had no reason to keep it, and while she knew her husband was only being practical, it felt as if he’d plunged a knife straight through her heart.

This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. They were so much in love and they were good people. Everyone who knew them said they’d make wonderful parents.

Carol had hoped this gut-wrenching agony would lessen with time. It’d only been a week, but the ache, the emptiness inside her, hadn’t even begun to dissipate. If anything, it’d grown worse. The only solace she’d found had been with her online support friends. They understood and had wept with her.

Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Carol clamped her arms around her middle and started to rock in grief and pain and loss.

It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. Rick, her irresponsible, reckless, immature brother, was able to father children he didn’t want with a woman he didn’t love. Where was the fairness in that? Where was the justice? That poor baby … Neither parent seemed to care.

Carol’s eyes flew open. A tingling sensation ran up and down her arms. Rick! Carol bolted off the sofa and hurried back into the bedroom. Intent on waking her husband, she leaped onto the bed.

“Doug, wake up!” she cried, kneeling over him.

Her husband ignored her and rolled onto his side.

“Doug!” she shouted, giddy with relief and joy. Hope could be a powerful drug and at the moment she was infused with it. “Doug, I have to talk to you.” She shook him urgently.

“Carol,” her husband protested, peering at the clock with one eye, “it’s the middle of the night!”

“I know … I know.” On her knees, she bent over him and kissed his neck. “You have to wake up.”

“Why?” he groaned.

“Because I have something very important to tell you.”

With reluctance marking every movement, Doug rolled onto his back and rubbed his face. He blinked and stared up at her, then frowned. “Is there a reason you’re smiling?”

She nodded, and leaning forward again, she hugged her husband.

“What happened?” Doug asked.

“I was sitting in the living room just now.” She stretched out her arm, her gestures wild with energy. “I was feeling so awful and thinking how unfair life is. I was so sure we’d have a baby and we didn’t and … and then I realized something and I had to wake you.”

Doug struggled into a sitting position so they were eye to eye.

“There’s going to be another baby for us,” she whispered.

“Hold on.” Doug shook his head. “You lost me.” He frowned as he studied her. “Are you talking about adoption?”

This was a familiar subject and with so few infants available, they knew their chances weren’t good. “Not just any baby. I’m talking about adopting Rick’s baby.”

“Your brother?”

She laughed. “Do you know any other Rick?”

“No, but he isn’t the one who’s pregnant.”

“I know, Lisa is. Or was it Kim? I don’t remember and really it doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? God meant for that baby to be ours.”

Doug wasn’t following her plan or if he was, he didn’t feel nearly as enthusiastic. He held her gaze and said gently, “Sweetheart, you’re not thinking straight.”

“I am,” Carol insisted. “It makes perfect sense. Can’t you see? My brother has fathered a child he doesn’t want. He told me he has no intention of marrying the mother. This pregnancy was a shock to Lisa, too—or Kim. Whoever she is. She certainly wasn’t anticipating a child as a result of their affair. Rick told me himself she was using birth control.”

“Yes, but—”

“I know it all sounds very sudden, but I honestly feel this baby was no accident. This is our baby.”

Doug’s sigh echoed through the bedroom. “Honey …”

“The baby’s related to me. It won’t be like adopting a stranger’s child.”

“And you think Rick will agree to this?” Clearly Doug had his doubts.

“Agree?” she repeated, laughing again. “I think he’d leap at the chance to escape child support payments. Furthermore, I want to assure him that neither one of us will ever tell Ellie that this baby is his biological child. We’d give him our word on that, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes, sure.”

“If he ever gets back together with Ellie, he can rest assured that our lips are sealed.”

“What about the baby’s mother?” he asked. “She has some say in this.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Carol said. “She’s going to have to take several weeks off work and we should be willing to compensate her for any lost wages.”

Doug lifted his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. “I suppose we could make that offer.”

“I could go back to work to help pay for whatever she wants.”

“That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?” Carol protested. Already he was objecting to her plans and it was crucial that he feel as certain about all of this as she did.

“You can’t go back to work for just a few months and then quit again. If you do return to the brokerage, it has to be with the understanding that you only intend to work a set amount of time.”

He was right, but that didn’t thwart her hopes—or her plans. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this adoption work. Just promise you’ll support me.”

“Honey, you know I will.”

“This baby is ours. I can feel it in my heart.” Needing to convince him, she lifted his hand and held it.

Doug closed his eyes and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He was afraid—she was, too—but the certainty that this was how things were meant to be overshadowed her fears.

“You’re afraid we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment, aren’t you?”

Doug nodded. “I hate to see you put yourself through this. What if it’s another dead end?”

“I’m the one who should be worrying about that, don’t you think?” Despite Doug’s concern, she was convinced her brother would like the idea.

“Should I call Rick, or do you want to do it?” Doug asked.

Joyfully, Carol tossed her arms around her husband’s neck. “I’ll phone him first thing in the morning and explain everything.” She still hadn’t heard from Rick, not since that evening he’d told her about the pregnancy. By now, he would have received from her parents the devastating report of the miscarriage. Carol realized he purposely hadn’t called or written her. He wouldn’t know what to say and it was easier to ignore her pain. Her brother tended to take the route of least resistance, which was something she hadn’t learned about him until recently.

“Can I go back to sleep now?” Doug asked and without waiting for a response, he slid down and pulled the sheet and comforter up to his ears.

Carol felt herself slip from her alert, energetic state into sudden tiredness. She got under the covers, too, burying her head in the pillow. Doug was on his side and she cuddled against him spoon-fashion, draping her arm over his waist.

Tired though she was, her head swam with thoughts of this child and what the adoption would bring to their lives. The old proverb was right: God never closes a door without opening a window. That window was wide open. She’d just had to stand in front of it for a few moments to feel the winds of change. She finally understood what should have been obvious all along.

36
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix dumped her dirty T-shirts into the washing machine, added soap and inserted quarters into the proper slots. She had enough shirts from rock bands and concerts to last her a full two weeks. With the old-lady underwear Jacqueline had insisted on buying her, Alix now had the same number of panties as she did T-shirts.

To save money, Alix and Laurel combined their dirty clothes and took turns hauling the bags down to the Laundromat. It was Alix’s turn to deal with the laundry and she hated it, which was one reason she went there early Monday morning. She’d feel like a success if one day she was rich enough to afford her own washer and dryer.

Sitting on the hard plastic chair, she reached for a magazine. The date on the issue of People was Christmas a year ago and Alix set it aside once she realized she’d read it on her previous visit. In fact, she’d read everything the Laundromat had to offer.

Crossing her arms, she stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. She smiled as she thought about Jacqueline. Her friend meant well, but there was no way in hell Alix was going to try on a knit dress. One look at the price tag and she’d nearly passed out. That dress and sweater combination cost over a thousand bucks. A thousand bucks for a dress? That was crazy!

Her experience at the hairdresser’s had been even worse. The French woman with the heavy accent refused to listen to anything Alix said. She had her own ideas of what needed to be done and simply dismissed Alix’s instructions. By the time Desiree, or whatever her name was, had finished, Alix was ready to scream. To be fair, her hair did look fairly decent—if she’d wanted to resemble that Brady Bunch guy. Alix had needed a week to get it styled the way she liked it after Desiree had snipped off so much with those fancy scissors.

Alix didn’t mean to sound unappreciative; Jacqueline had wanted to do something nice for her, and Alix was grateful, especially since her friend was footing the bill. But Jacqueline’s efforts had backfired. She just didn’t understand Alix’s taste, and Alix wasn’t letting the other woman get that close to her again.

On a brighter note, Carol was back at A Good Yarn this past Friday and—surprisingly—in a great mood. Everyone had been worried about her after the news of her miscarriage. Alix wasn’t sure what, if anything, to say. She wanted Carol to know she was sorry, but at the same time she didn’t want to bring up a painful subject in case Carol wasn’t ready to talk about it. Jacqueline and Lydia obviously felt the same way.

Then Carol had arrived for class as cheerful as ever, and Alix was stunned. Everyone was. Carol seemed convinced that she and Doug would be able to adopt a baby. Alix was full of questions, but when the others didn’t ask anything, she took the hint and didn’t either. Carol hadn’t provided any details, so they all pretended everything was fine. Alix worried that Carol was in denial or caught up in some kind of wish-fulfillment fantasy. She tried to be encouraging, but frankly she was concerned.

Carol wasn’t the only one in the group Alix was concerned about. Something was definitely wrong with Lydia. She just wasn’t herself, acting subdued and withdrawn, walking around in a fog. Jacqueline had noticed it, too. At first Alix assumed Lydia was on the outs with the delivery guy she’d been so keen on all summer. That could be it, but she was doubtful. When questioned, Lydia claimed everything was fine, but Alix didn’t need a psychic to see that things were definitely off kilter.

And Laurel … Laurel was even worse than before. Having a roommate was a mistake, but they were stuck with each other. For the past three months Laurel had been irritable and short-tempered. Thinking she was being helpful, Alix gave her a tabloid with big headlines about a miracle diet. Laurel had hurled it back at Alix, hitting her in the face. Alix had avoided her roommate ever since. It was easier now that Laurel wasn’t working at the video store. She’d quit the week before and taken a job at a day care center as an assistant, which meant she was basically a baby-sitter and a cleaner, wiping up spilled juice and putting away Lego blocks. She hadn’t taken courses or anything. But Laurel didn’t seem to like that job any better.

The washing machine buzzed, and Alix got up from the chair and dumped the clean clothes into the plastic basket. She was ready to bring the load to the dryer, but when she turned around she nearly bumped into Jordan Turner.

She hadn’t seen Jordan since their disagreement, and after making a fool of herself she didn’t expect a second chance with him. The only reason she’d let Jacqueline give her a fashion makeover was in the hopes that Jordan would notice the difference, that it might give him an excuse to talk to her. She should’ve known what to expect. Everything she’d ever done to improve her life had ended in this same predictable way.

“Hi-i,” she stammered.

“I thought that was you.” He studied her hair. “I like the new style. Nice color.”

“You do?” Alix couldn’t make her heart stop hammering like one of those staple guns the construction guys used. “This is my natural color. Well, almost, from what I remember.” Until Jordan’s comment, she’d always viewed her hair as mousy brown. He made her feel beautiful, and special.

“I guess we should talk,” he said.

She shrugged, too nervous to speak.

“Have you got a minute?”

“I guess.” She deliberately walked over to the huge wall dryer and dumped her load inside. After adding the coins, she waited a moment to be sure the dryer had started to tumble before joining him.

He sat at the table used to fold clothes. It was early in the day and the Laundromat wasn’t busy yet. By ten it would fill up. Alix preferred to avoid the more crowded times, when kids ran around out of control and people squabbled over whose turn it was for the dryers.

She lowered her head, struggling to find the words to apologize.

“I heard what you did,” Jordan said.

Alix frowned as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Lori told me you got her out of a drug house.”

“Oh.” Alix had nearly forgotten that. “Yeah, well, she wanted out but didn’t want to admit it.”

“Lori’s a troubled kid.”

“Who isn’t?” She didn’t mean to sound flippant, but it was an honest response. All teenagers seemed to go through a period when they were convinced the world was out to get them. The only defense available was to lash back. Her own rebellion had led her down several dark paths, and in retrospect, she wished there’d been someone in her life who would’ve taken her out of a drug house.

“Lori asked me to tell you she’s grateful for what you did.”

That wasn’t the way Alix remembered it.

“I’m grateful, too,” Jordan said.

She nodded dismissively. “I knew Lori didn’t belong in that house with those men.”

“Neither did you,” Jordan said, holding her gaze.

“I know that.”

Jordan refused to release her eyes. “Are drugs a problem?”

That made her angry, and she would have snapped back a retort, but she swallowed her outrage. It was a fair question, since she’d voluntarily walked into a drug house. “Not anymore. I’ve used in the past, but these days I don’t.”

He nodded, taking her word for it.

“I suppose I should apologize,” she said in as offhand a manner as she could. “You’re right, I was jealous.” Seeing Jordan standing in the church with that perfect all-American girl had nearly tripped her up. She had no right to feel the things she did, but that didn’t seem to matter. In her heart she viewed Jordan as hers. The red-hot suspicions that burned through her were too consuming to ignore, so she’d reverted to a time and place she’d sworn never to visit again.

It wasn’t Lori who should be grateful, but Alix. The girl’s danger had brought her back.

“Apology accepted.” Jordan grinned at her.

Alix felt as if her heart was melting. She smiled back.

“Friends?”

“Friends,” she agreed, happy and a bit melancholy at the same time. Did this mean she couldn’t be more than his friend?

Jordan reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. “I’ve missed you.”

For a few seconds, she could hardly catch her breath. He’d missed her! “I’m knitting you a sweater,” she whispered.

“You are?”

Alix cursed the day she’d inherited this pattern from Carol. It’d been causing her problems from the moment she’d started. For a while she’d stopped working on it, but she’d begun again, hoping to feel close to Jordan. She’d also supposed it might give her an excuse to contact him. She’d finished the baby blanket and showed it to her social worker; now all she had to do was deliver it to the appropriate agency.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, you know.”

Alix slid her gaze to his.

“There’s no one else.”

She swallowed tightly. “Oh.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “Do you remember the day you brought cupcakes to class for your birthday?”

Alix wasn’t likely to forget. Her mother wasn’t much of a homemaker so Alix had made them herself. From scratch, too, not from a mix.

“I baked those.” She was surprised that he’d remembered.

“You gave me two.”

She dropped her eyes. “Yeah, I know. If I had a decent oven I’d bake you a whole batch right now.”

“Do you like to bake?”

Alix nodded. It was her dream to attend a cooking school and be the kind of chef who prepared fancy dinners at places like the ones Jacqueline and her husband frequented. Or maybe one day she’d have her own catering business. She didn’t talk about this often. Over the years she’d worked in a few restaurants and she loved the craziness in the kitchen. She’d tried to get on at Annie’s but the video store had offered her a job first.

“Do you have plans for Saturday night?” Jordan’s thumb stroked the back of her hand.

“Not really.”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“Annie’s Café?” A meal there was as close to restaurant dining as she got.

“Not this time. How about a real three-course dinner at a fish and steak house?”

That sounded like a dress-and-panty-hose place. But the thought of turning him down didn’t so much as enter her mind. Maybe, just maybe, Jacqueline would be willing to give her a second chance at a fashion makeover.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

37
CHAPTER

“In knitting, as in everything else, you learn as much from your mistakes as you do from your successes.”

—Pam Allen, Editor, Interweave Press

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I suppose it sounds melodramatic to say I felt my life was over. Still, that’s exactly what I believed as I lay in the hospital bed with the sterile scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic wafting around me. I’ve always detested the smell of hospitals. For someone who’s spent as much time in them as I have, you might think I would’ve grown accustomed to it by now. I haven’t, though. The X-rays revealed what I’d feared most. Another tumor had formed. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that this one was accessible through my sinus cavity, without the necessity of drilling into my skull.

The tumor was gone now and the biopsy had been completed. Unfortunately the results were inconclusive, and a tissue sample had been sent out for a second opinion. With my medical history no one was willing to take chances.

Margaret’s bouquet of carnations sat on the table at my bedside and cheered me. It was the first time my sister had ever sent me flowers. Our relationship was changing, but even her gesture of support wasn’t enough to get me through this.

In my heart I knew what was coming and I couldn’t bear it. Not again. Everything within me wanted to scream how unfair this was. Like a little girl, I wanted to jump up and down and throw a temper tantrum.

Dad’s not here to help me anymore, and the sense of abandonment I experienced was overwhelming. Irrational as it might seem, I was furious with my father for dying. I’m so angry. Angry with Dad. Angry with God. Angry at the world.

Having spent most of two days drugged for the surgery, I now found the escape of sleep unavailable. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Brad’s face. All I heard was his voice. What kept coming to mind was the last confrontation we had, that day on the phone, when I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I made it as plain as I could that I was not interested in continuing our relationship.

He didn’t understand, of course, that I was doing him a favor and seemed bent on arguing, trying to change my mind. I regret the things I said, but I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I’d led him to believe my interests lay elsewhere.

I knew Margaret strongly disapproved of my breaking up with Brad. However, I told her this is my life and I make my own decisions. That shut her up, but I could tell she was furious. I can deal with her displeasure, though. I have dealt with it nearly all of our lives.

I don’t think she’s blamed me for the return of the cancer. I’ve tried to be grateful for that one small bit of compassion on my sister’s part. When I told her the news, she grew very solemn and told me how sorry she was.

As if my thoughts had conjured her up, Margaret stood in the doorway to my room. “I see the flowers arrived,” she said, looking ill-at-ease. She glanced around warily, as if she half expected an orderly to grab her, throw her on a gurney and wheel her off for experimental surgery.

“The flowers are very nice,” I told her. “It was a thoughtful thing to do.”

“So,” she said, tentatively stepping closer to the bed. “How did the tests go?”

I shrugged because there wasn’t anything to say. “About the same as last time.”

Margaret’s eyebrows rose in sympathy. “That bad?”

I made a genuine effort to smile, but the best I could manage was a grimace.

“Mom wanted to come….”

I nodded. My mother didn’t know the reason I’d been admitted, and I wanted to keep it that way. On reflection, if there’s anything positive about my father’s death, it’s that he went quickly. Mom wouldn’t have been able to cope with a long illness.

I suspect Margaret’s a lot like our mother, and her willingness to visit me now revealed how much our relationship had evolved over the past few months.

Once she figured it was safe to relax, Margaret pulled the visitor’s chair to the side of my bed.

“I’m glad you came,” I told her, “because there are a few things I want to discuss.”

It was as if she hadn’t heard me. “I don’t think now is a good time….”

“Please.” The tone of my voice seemed to reach her, even if my words didn’t.

Resigned, Margaret sighed heavily. “All right, what is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about what will happen to A Good Yarn.”

Margaret’s expression was painful. “I’ve given that some thought myself. You know I don’t knit, but I’d be willing to step in and—”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” Asking my sister to take over my business hadn’t occurred to me.

“It’s a possibility. Mom and I could trade days.”

Her generosity touched me deeply, and for the first time since I’d entered the hospital, I felt tears clogging my throat and filling my eyes. “I can’t believe you’d be willing to do that.”

Margaret stared at me in surprise. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything I could to help you, including …” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. “We can talk about this later, all right? Nothing’s for sure, so why don’t we cross that bridge once we get to it.”

“But—”

“You have another visitor.”

I imagined one of my nieces had come with her and looked expectantly toward the door. I’d wanted to settle the future of my yarn shop immediately, but it made sense to wait until Dr. Wilson delivered his verdict. I hadn’t believed I’d survive the second bout of cancer, and I had no illusions about the third. The fight had gone out of me and I was willing to accept my fate.

The awful truth, what I could never say aloud to Margaret or my mother, is that I preferred death over treatment. I felt I couldn’t do this again, couldn’t endure the agony of chemotherapy. I was an adult and capable of making my own decision. Well, I’d made it. I’d decided to refuse treatment and let the cancer take its course. The only person I could discuss this with was Dr. Wilson, and I wouldn’t see him until he’d had a chance to analyze the test results.

“Give me a moment,” Margaret said. She rose from the chair and disappeared into the hallway outside my room.

I was in for a shock when she returned. The visitor she brought in with her wasn’t Julie or Hailey, but Brad. Everything inside me wanted to scream at him to leave and for Margaret to go with him. I couldn’t stand it. One look at the tender concern on Brad’s face, and I reacted like a juvenile, covering my face with both hands. Then, to my horror, I unceremoniously burst into tears.

I felt Brad’s arms come around my shoulders. “You could have told me, you know.”

I dropped my hands and refused to look at him or speak. My fury was focused on my meddling sister. “How could you?” I shouted at her. “How could you?”

“How could you?” she shouted right back. It was as though the room had developed an echo.

Brad interrupted our shouting match. He spoke in a strong, determined voice. “If you’d told me what was wrong we could have talked it out, Lydia.”

“Go away.” I turned to look him straight in the face, although my heart was breaking.

He shook his head. “Sorry, that isn’t going to happen.”

“You don’t have any choice.”

“I’m not letting you drive me away.”

“Don’t you get it?” I cried, and nearly choked on the words. “There’s no future with me.”

Eyes soft, he reached for my hand. “But there’s today and tomorrow and the next day.”

I tilted my chin toward the ceiling. I didn’t understand why everyone had to make this so difficult.

“Lydia,” Margaret said. “Would you stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself and get a grip?”

I didn’t expect anything different from my sister. She wasn’t the one who’d gone through this nightmare. She wasn’t the one who’d suffered weeks of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. My sister acted as though my cancer was a minor inconvenience. As though I should just get over it and deal with life.

“I can’t tell you what the future holds,” Brad said, his gaze earnest, “but I can tell you that whatever happens, I intend to be here, for you and with you.”

I’d heard that before, too. Same words, different year. But after two days of being poked and prodded, I was in no state of mind for an argument. “Please, just leave … I can’t deal with this now.”

Margaret and Brad exchanged glances. They didn’t seem to believe me. Nor did they care what I wanted or needed, because they utterly ignored my request. They gave me no option, so I slammed my hand on the bell to call the nurse.

“What do you need?” A tinny voice rang through the intercom.

“Peace,” I cried. “I need peace and quiet and these people refuse to leave.”

Margaret pinched her lips together and slowly shook her head. And from the grim frown on Brad’s face, it would take the Seventh Cavalry—or one annoyed nurse—to make him vacate my room. I slid down in the bed and rolled over, offering him my back.

“We haven’t finished our discussion,” he said.

I didn’t answer him. As far as I was concerned, I’d already told him everything I intended to. Nothing he said was going to change my mind.

I heard footsteps enter the room.

“We were just leaving,” Margaret told the nurse.

I forced myself not to roll over and watch my sister and Brad walk out.

Perhaps I had a bigger problem than cancer. I’d just thrown out the only two people in the world who’d come to offer me their love and support.

38
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol and Doug arrived at the fondue restaurant in the Seattle University district before Rick. They were already seated and had each ordered a glass of chardonnay while they waited for her brother and possibly Lisa.

It had taken Carol several days to reach him. Their conversation had been short. She’d invited Rick to dinner and asked him to bring Lisa, too, if she was available. After setting the date and time, he’d promised to see if Lisa could come.

“Do you think she’ll be with him?” Carol asked, clutching her husband’s arm. This night could be one of the most important in their married life.

Before Doug had an opportunity to answer, Carol saw the hostess leading her brother to the table. He was alone, but perhaps that was for the best. After talking the matter over, she and Doug had decided her brother could present their idea to Lisa. She might have found it awkward to discuss such a private matter with complete strangers.

Carol had intended to spend the evening socializing with Rick—or the couple if Lisa showed up—and then afterward invite them to the apartment, where they’d make their suggestion. Doug would do the talking, they’d agreed, and that would give Carol a chance to gauge Rick’s feelings.

“Here you are,” Rick said. He kissed Carol’s cheek before taking a seat across from them. His eyes avoided hers. “Mom told me about the miscarriage. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Their drinks came then, providing a distraction. Rick ordered a double whiskey. “I’m not flying until tomorrow night,” he explained.

“How’s everything in your life?” Doug asked as soon as the waitress had taken their dinner order.

“Hunky dory,” Rick said flippantly.

Carol reached for her husband’s hand beneath the table. “How’s Lisa?”

“Fine, I guess. I haven’t talked to her in a week or so.”

So he hadn’t bothered to extend the dinner invitation, after all. Well, she supposed it didn’t matter.

“You certainly seem to be in good spirits.” Rick directed the comment at Carol. “I expected you to be all depressed. Mom said you’d taken the miscarriage really hard.”

She grimaced. “I did, but life goes on.”

His drink arrived and Rick raised the ice-filled tumbler. “To life,” he said. Carol and Doug raised their glasses in response but didn’t echo his words.

“Actually, you and Lisa have a great deal to do with the improvement in my mood,” Carol ventured. Doug cast her a warning glance. She knew he was right. This wasn’t the time to bring up the reason for their dinner invitation.

“Me?” Her brother looked surprised.

Thankfully their server arrived with the first course of their meal, saving Carol from answering. The waitress lit the fondue burner and set a bowl filled with a hot cheese mixture on top. She added a variety of items to dip, including bread, sliced vegetables and fresh apples and pears.

Carol’s appetite had increased over the last week, but since the miscarriage she’d lost enough weight that many of her clothes no longer fit properly. For that evening out, she’d been forced to change her outfit three times. Everything in her closet hung on her like a tent.

“We’re thinking of adoption,” Carol announced. She simply couldn’t resist saying something, despite Doug’s caution.

Rick nodded as if he approved. “Good idea.”

“We thought so,” Carol murmured and rubbed her leg against Doug’s. Rick was so dense he hadn’t picked up on what should’ve been obvious.

“I talked to Ellie last week,” her brother said.

“How did it go?”

“She was cordial but I could tell that beneath all the politeness, she was pleased to hear from me. I asked her out to dinner next week.”

“Is she going?”

Rick shook his head. “I should’ve waited until I was back in Juneau. It’s much harder to turn me down in person.”

“What’s happening with Lisa?” Carol asked, hoping for information about the pregnant flight attendant.

“We decided to go our separate ways. We were never much of an item.”

Carol’s heart fell. “But you do intend to keep seeing her, don’t you?”

Her brother looked up, holding a piece of bread dripping with cheese over the fondue pot. “Oh, sure, that’s unavoidable with the two of us working the same flights. She’s a sweetheart and what happened is unfortunate. I have to say she’s handled it well.”

Carol sighed with relief. “You know, sometimes what seems like an accident isn’t one at all.”

“I guess.” Rick reached for another piece of bread. “Damn, this is good. Did either of you notice what kind of cheese this is?”

“Can’t say that I did,” Doug said.

Carol noticed a sharpness in her husband’s voice and glanced over to find him frowning. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but couldn’t. Now that the subject of Lisa had been introduced, Carol couldn’t bear to wait another moment.

“I’m sure you know how dreadful it was when I miscarried,” she said, studying her brother intently.

Rick sipped his drink, and then speared a slice of pear. “That was really bummer news.”

“One night last week, just before dawn, I was sitting in the dark thinking about all of this. I felt like a complete failure.”

“How so?”

“I’d failed myself. I’d failed Doug. You and I both know what a wonderful father he’d be. And I knew how disappointed Mom and Dad would be. They’re really looking forward to becoming grandparents. I felt as if my whole world had collapsed.”

Rick glanced at her. “Why would you feel like that?”

It would take too long to explain. “A woman feels those kinds of emotions when she can’t carry a pregnancy to term.”

Rick’s gaze slid to Doug and he winked. “Women. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t understand ‘em, but they sure as hell make life interesting, don’t they?”

Doug didn’t bother to respond.

“The reason I bring this up now—”

“Carol.” Doug placed his hand over hers. “Let’s enjoy our dinner.”

She nodded, but nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from prodding her brother with more questions about Lisa. Without the double whiskey—in fact, Rick was now on his second—he might have picked up on what she was trying to say.

The meal seemed to take forever. Any other night, Carol would have savored this time with her two favorite men in the world. Following the appetizer of cheese was the main course with shrimp and lobster cooked in a bubbling white wine sauce. When dessert finally arrived, strawberries and pound cake dipped in rich chocolate, Carol was so tense she couldn’t wait another minute.

“Would you like to come to our house for a nightcap?” Doug asked.

Rick glanced at his watch. “I’d better not.”

“But it’s important,” Carol blurted out. “Doug and I need to talk to you.”

Rick gave her a surprised look. “About what?”

Carol refused to let the evening end without broaching the subject of the adoption. “Doug and I want to ask about you and Lisa.”

Rick’s forehead creased in a frown. “I thought I told you we split up.”

“Yes, I know, but this doesn’t have anything to do with you as a couple. Doug and I—” she paused and looked at her husband briefly before returning her gaze to Rick “—we want to ask about the baby.”

“What baby?” Her brother seemed genuinely puzzled.

Carol leaned closer to him. “Lisa’s pregnant, right?”

“Was pregnant, you mean.”

Carol felt as if the chair had been yanked out from under her. “She miscarried?”

Rick shook his head. “She and I talked about this, you know. We both agreed there wasn’t any other option. Neither of us had planned on this pregnancy.”

“Yes, but—”

“All I could think was what Ellie would say if she found out, and then there’s eighteen bloody years of child support. A kid isn’t a responsibility I take lightly.”

“She had an abortion.” Carol felt needles of pain move up and down her arms.

“Like I said, Lisa and I discussed it. It’s her body, and the choice was hers.”

“But you told her you didn’t want the baby!”

“Damn straight. I don’t need that kind of complication in my life.”

“But Doug and I wanted to adopt the baby!”

“Honey.” Doug’s gentle voice broke through the fog of dismay and disbelief. “It isn’t going to happen. Let go of it.”

After the first jolt of shock she felt nothing. No anger, no outrage, no disappointment. Nothing. They might have been discussing the weather for all the emotion she experienced.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said, “but even if we’d known that, I don’t think we would’ve made any other choice.”

“Come on, honey, I think it’s time we left.” Doug helped her to her feet and if she wasn’t revealing any distress, he was.

“You were making a big assumption, weren’t you?” Rick demanded. “This is my life. It isn’t up to me to solve your problems for you.”

“Right,” Doug said. “This is our problem.”

Rick downed the last of his drink. “No need to get upset about it. These things happen.”

“Right.” Doug’s arm came around Carol.

“Thanks for dinner, you two. We’ll have to get together again soon.” Rick continued to sit at the table, staring blankly into space.

39
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Jacqueline picked up Alix outside her apartment building promptly at ten on Saturday morning. During the knitting session on Friday afternoon, Alix had casually mentioned her dinner date with Jordan in a fancy restaurant. Jacqueline had leaped upon it, eager for another opportunity to prove herself.

“I know what I did wrong,” Jacqueline insisted. “Give me a second chance and you won’t be sorry.”

Alix hoped that was true. When Jacqueline’s Mercedes pulled up to the curb, Alix stepped forward and opened the passenger door. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive. Now get in, we’re on a schedule.”

Three months ago if anyone had told Alix she’d be friends with this society broad, Alix would have laughed outright. She and Jacqueline still sniped at each other, but now it was mostly for show. They had a reputation to live up to, and Alix wasn’t going to let it slide. Apparently Jacqueline shared her feelings.

Alix sat in the car and waited, wondering why Jacqueline hadn’t pulled onto the street.

“Seat belt,” the older woman said sternly.

Grumbling under her breath, Alix reached for the seat belt and clicked it in place.

“What?” Jacqueline snapped.

“Don’t be so prissy.”

“I’m not. By the way, we’re going to my daughter-in-law’s house.”

“Tammie Lee’s?” This was a switch. Alix had noticed a softening in Jacqueline not only toward her, but her daughter-in-law too. When Alix had first signed up for the knitting classes, Jacqueline had nothing good to say about the woman who’d married her precious son. That seemed to have changed, at least a little.

“Tammie Lee’s young and trendy. That’s the look you’re after, isn’t it?”

“It’s better than having you dress me like Barbara Bush.”

To Alix’s surprise, Jacqueline laughed. “Don’t put down our former First Ladies. I changed the spelling of my name in the fifth grade because of Jacqueline Kennedy.”

“My mother says she spelled my name with an I on purpose,” Alix confessed, “but I don’t think it was for any good reason. The fact is, she was probably drunk when she made out the birth certificate and accidentally misspelled it.” Alix didn’t know if that was true or not, but it was certainly possible.

They chatted on the ride to Tammie Lee’s, mostly about which fork to use first in a fancy restaurant and other rules of etiquette Jacqueline felt it was essential Alix know. They also discussed Lydia and wondered why her sister had been in the shop so much lately. Jacqueline had phoned to ask, and Alix had stopped by a couple of times. All Margaret would say was that Lydia was under the weather. Friday’s knitting session had been rather unsatisfactory without their teacher and friend, but no one complained openly. Alix just hoped Lydia would be back the following week and so did Jacqueline.

They drove for a good twenty minutes before Jacqueline pulled into the driveway of what looked like a mansion. The house was modern with a big front yard and lots of flowers. The white pillars in front reminded her of pictures she’d once seen in a magazine. Super cool.

No sooner had Jacqueline turned off the engine than the front door opened and a girl who didn’t seem to be any older than Alix stepped outside. Tammie Lee looked like she was ready to pop at any moment and wore shorts, a maternity top and no shoes. She had a smile as big as any Alix had ever seen and her eyes sparkled with welcome.

“You’re right on time.” Tammie Lee held open the screen door. “I’ve been so eager for you to get here.”

Alix loved listening to her talk. Tammie Lee had the softest, sweetest voice she’d ever heard.

Tammie Lee hugged Jacqueline as if it’d been a year of Sundays since she’d last seen her mother-in-law. “And you must be Alix. Jacqueline didn’t tell me what a beauty you are. Why, this is going to be easier than frying up griddle cakes. You must come in and let me take a good look at you.” Before Alix could object, not that she would have, Tammie Lee had taken her arm and led her into the house.

“Where’s Paul?” Jacqueline asked.

“Golfing with his daddy,” Tammie Lee said and sounded surprised that her mother-in-law didn’t know.

Alix noticed a flicker of something in the older woman’s eyes. For an instant it looked like pain, but Alix was sure she must be wrong.

“I’ve got everything set up in the spare bedroom,” Tammie Lee said. “I took out a bunch of my clothes for Alix to try on. That way, when we find something she likes, we’ll know where to shop.”

“Good idea,” Alix said, although she couldn’t imagine wearing any style this southern belle would.

True to her word, Tammie Lee had laid an assortment of clothes on the bed in the guest room. At first glance Alix’s heart fell. There seemed to be nothing but satin, lace and girly items.

“You sort through what’s on the bed and I’ll get us all some iced tea.”

“With mint,” Jacqueline added as she sat down.

“Of course,” Tammie Lee said as she rushed from the room.

“She adds mint to everything,” Jaqueline said in a disparaging whisper.

Alix glanced at her quickly—a hint of the old disapproval was back—but didn’t comment. Instead she checked out a full-length jean skirt. This was workable but only if she wore a T-shirt with it and a wide leather belt. She set it to one side and reached for a frothy, lacy dress, which she immediately rejected.

Tammie Lee stuck her head inside the door. “Would either of you prefer a Coke?”

“I would.” Alix wasn’t shy. She’d never been a real fan of iced tea.

“With or without peanuts?”

“With.” She hadn’t had breakfast and a snack sounded good.

“I’ll have the iced tea. Do you need any help?” Jacqueline asked.

“Oh, heavens, no.” Once again Tammie Lee disappeared, but it wasn’t long before she returned.

She brought in a tray and placed it on the dresser. Jacqueline stood up to get her glass of iced tea and Alix watched as she removed the mint leaf, using her thumb and index finger as if she were picking out a dead bug.

Tammie Lee served the Coke in an old-fashioned soda glass. She’d apparently forgotten the peanuts, which was fine. Not until Alix reached for her Coke did she notice the peanuts floating on top. She couldn’t very well object now and took a sip. The taste was interesting, a blend of salt and sweet. This was probably one of those southern traditions Jacqueline complained about so much.

“I like this,” Alix said and held up the jean skirt.

“I thought you would.”

“You can’t wear jeans to a fancy restaurant,” Jacqueline objected.

“It’s not the same as regular jeans,” Tammie Lee explained.

While they discussed what could be considered proper attire for a real restaurant, Alix drank her Coke, complete with floating peanuts.

An hour later, after she’d tried on several outfits, the three of them headed to the mall in two separate cars—Alix, still riding with Jacqueline. Inside one of the major department stores, Jacqueline sat and waited, while Tammie Lee carried outfit after outfit into the dressing room. Some of them Alix rejected out of hand, but a few showed real possibility. In the end, she chose a long black skirt and a white silk blouse with a swooping neckline and cuffs that buttoned at the wrist.

It was noon, and by then Alix was starved. She would’ve been happy with a hamburger, but Jacqueline suggested a sit-down place inside the mall. She insisted they try the delicate finger sandwiches with ultra-thin slices of cucumber. Alix ate her sandwich in two bites and had several more. She could’ve eaten out for a week on what Jacqueline paid for lunch. No wonder society women were so thin.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m exhausted,” Jacqueline said. “I just might let you two carry on without me.”

“You go home and put your feet up,” Tammie Lee told her. “I’ll take over from here if that’s okay with Alix.”

“But I do want to see Alix when you’re all finished with her.”

“I’ll call you myself,” Tammie Lee promised.

Left to their own devices, Tammie Lee and Alix made fast work of the remainder of their purchases, which included shoes and a silver necklace—all at Jacqueline’s expense. Alix would never have guessed how much she’d like Jacqueline’s daughter-in-law. Tammie Lee was fun and sweet and the nicest person she’d met in her entire life. Frankly, she didn’t know what Jacqueline found so disagreeable about her.

They stopped for a Coke at a fast-food restaurant in the food court. Because she was still hungry, Alix ordered a cheeseburger and fries to go with it.

Tammie Lee took one look at her and burst into giggles. “Make that two of everything.”

“I’m not going back to the same hairdresser.” Alix wanted that understood in case Jacqueline had forgotten her previous reaction to Ms. Desiree.

“I don’t blame you,” Tammie Lee said in a whisper. “Jacqueline wanted me to make an appointment with Desiree. So I did, shortly after Paul and I were married.”

“Did you come out looking like one of the Brady Bunch?”

“No,” she said with a silly grin, “I looked more like Don King. Every time Paul saw me, he laughed. I thought I’d die of pure mortification.”

Their order was ready, and they found a table in the middle of the seating area.

“Tell me about you and Paul,” Alix said as she unwrapped her cheeseburger.

“Oh, Alix.” Tammie Lee gave a breathy sigh. “I don’t know where to start. I never thought I’d leave Louisiana, but it’s amazing what a woman will do for love.” Her expression was dreamy. “I discovered it didn’t matter where I lived, as long as I could be with Paul. The heart takes on a will of its own, if you know what I mean?”

Alix did understand. The fact that she was in this mall was proof of that.

“If you don’t object, I’ll do your hair for you,” Tammie Lee offered.

“You will?”

“I might not have all the training Desiree does, but I’m fairly good. All my friends let me do their hair for proms and such.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“It’ll be fun.”

When Tammie Lee drove back to the house, Paul had returned from the golf course. He sat in front of the television with an empty plate in his lap and a milk glass on the end table.

“Hi, Tam,” he said and smiled at Alix. He jumped up from his chair and took the packages from Tammie Lee’s hands, kissing his wife on the cheek. “How’d the shopping go?”

“Great. This is Alix, your mother’s friend and now mine.”

“Hello, Alix.” Paul gave her the once-over, as if he wasn’t sure she was for real. “You and my mother are friends?”

“Yeah, we met in the knitting class.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “I remember….”

“I’m going to do Alix’s hair. She’s got a hot date tonight.”

“Sure, go ahead.” His attention had already drifted back to the baseball game.

Tammie Lee was as good as her word. By the time she’d finished, Alix felt like a candidate for Homecoming Queen. Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Alix had to blink in order to believe the image was her own.

“What do you think?” Tammie Lee asked. “I … you made me pretty.”

Tammie Lee slowly shook her head. “You’re already lovely, Alix, but I have a feeling your Jordan knows that.”

Her heart did a little flip-flop at the way Tammie Lee said your Jordan, as if it was understood that the two of them were a couple.

Before long, Jacqueline arrived to give Alix her nod of approval. While Alix suspected she fell far short of the designer dress and fancy hairdo her friend would’ve preferred, she seemed to pass muster. Tammie Lee hadn’t used anything more than a curling iron and mousse, but she’d managed to arrange Alix’s plain straight hair in a natural wavy style that suited her better than anything she’d ever imagined.

After a moment, Jacqueline smiled.

“Do you think Jordan will like it?”

Jacqueline laughed delightedly. “My dear, he’s in for a real surprise.”

That evening while she waited for Jordan to pick her up at the apartment, Alix nervously paced the living room.

“Would you stop pacing,” Laurel snapped. She was parked in front of the television with a pint of cookie-dough ice cream, which she ate directly from the container.

The knock on the door nearly sent Alix into a panic. She closed her eyes and although she wasn’t a person who’d prayed a lot in recent years, she found a prayer on her lips now. More than anything, she wanted Jordan to see her as beautiful.

Holding her breath, she opened the door.

Jordan stood there holding a wrist corsage in a clear plastic box. His eyes widened as he stood staring at her.

“Say something,” she pleaded. “Anything.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “Wow, Alix, is that really you?”

“It’s me.” Holding back a smile would have been impossible. “You like it?”

“I like you,” he said and handed her the corsage.

This was the first time in her life anyone had given her flowers and nothing in the world could have pleased her more.

40
CHAPTER

“Whether I am knitting for myself or someone else, my passion for knitting enables me to express my creativity and produces a feeling of accomplishment.”

—Rita E. Greenfeder, Editor, Knit ‘N Style

Magazine

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Margaret decided to go with me to the meeting with Dr. Wilson at his office. He had all the test results and medical reports back now, and there seemed to be some confusion about the diagnosis.

Notoriously closemouthed, he did mention casually when I was released from the hospital that he’d asked a colleague to review the biopsy. That news, I suspect, was meant to encourage me. But in my heart, I knew the tumor was cancerous.

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Margaret mumbled as we sat in the waiting area. It was the last appointment of the day, another sure sign of my prognosis, but I didn’t say any of this to Margaret.

Instead I leaned back and closed my eyes, wanting to block out the world. It was easy for my sister to suggest optimism. This wasn’t her life, her illness, her impending death. I couldn’t help wondering what her thoughts would’ve been had our situations been reversed. I bit back the words to remind her that she’d come running to me with her own recent scare. I was in that kind of mood right now. I could hardly keep from lashing out at the world and everyone close to me. The person who’d received the brunt of my anger, sadly, was Brad, and he was the last person who deserved it. But I refused to dwell on him or the regrets I felt whenever he crossed my mind. I’d done what I had for his own good. He would never know what it had cost me to send him away; I would carry the weight of that for the rest of my life, however short that might be.

My mother was another one I’d strived to protect. Margaret had, too. So far, we’d kept Mom in the dark. We’d concocted a story about my hospital visit having to do with a routine check-up. My mother had been all too willing to accept the lie.

Long before I was ready to confront the inevitable, Peggy came into the waiting area. This time she wasn’t holding that monstrosity of a medical file in her arms. “Dr. Wilson will see you now,” she announced.

I didn’t meet her eyes, although I heard hope and encouragement in her voice. I considered Peggy a friend, but that friendship wasn’t exclusive. She was wonderful to all of Dr. Wilson’s patients. I realized how difficult this must be for her, too. So often, she had to silently stand by and watch Dr. Wilson’s patients lose their battles with cancer. It wasn’t a position I envied.

Margaret was on her feet before I’d managed to put my magazine down and pick up my purse. I was certainly in no hurry to have my deepest fears confirmed.

Peggy led us into Dr. Wilson’s private office. His framed degrees lined the walls; he displayed a few family photos, which were artfully arranged on a credenza. The mahogany desk was polished and uncluttered, with my file set to one side. I’d been in his private office twice before, and each time I’d been devastated by his news. I didn’t expect anything different this go-round.

Dr. Wilson wasn’t in the room when we arrived, but he walked in directly behind us. My sister shook hands with him after a murmured introduction.

Dr. Wilson rolled out his big, high-back leather chair and sat down. He reached for my file, which he brought to the center of the table. He paused and then….

“The cancer is back.” I didn’t make it a question. The tumor was gone, but I was sure there’d be more, growing in areas not as accessible as this one had been.

“Is it?” Margaret asked and to my surprise her voice quavered slightly.

So often in our lives, I’ve wanted to prove to Margaret that I was right and she was wrong. Call it sibling rivalry. This time, however, I’d have given anything to be wrong.

As I’d said earlier, there was nothing to be optimistic about. The disease refused to leave my body. I opened my mouth to announce that I’d refuse treatment. I had neither the will nor the strength to face a third battle. Not without my father.

“Because of your history,” Dr. Wilson began, “I felt it was doubly important to be certain before I made a prognosis. I had the biopsy sent to the top brain cancer specialist in the country.”

I held my breath almost afraid to hope, certain the news would devastate me.

“What did he say?” Margaret asked, slipping closer to the edge of her seat.

“She agrees with me. The tumor was benign.”

“Benign,” I repeated, wanting to be sure I’d heard him correctly. The tumor was benign.

“Yes.” Dr. Wilson smiled at me but I was too shocked to react. “Everything’s going to be all right this time, Lydia. You’re cancer-free.” He stood up and walked over to an X-ray display panel on his wall. He removed two X-rays from inside an envelope and clipped them onto the lit panel. Taking out his pen, he pointed to the film. “This is the first X-ray we took and this is the one following the surgery.”

“Are you saying I won’t need radiation or chemotherapy?”

He shook his head. “No reason for it.”

I sat up straighter.

“It’s very good news, don’t you think?”

I was too numb to agree with him or even nod. Dr. Wilson’s voice faded as the realization slowly came. My life had been given back to me.

I’m not sure when I rose to my feet but suddenly I was standing. I covered my mouth and feared I was about to embarrass myself by bursting into tears. I noticed, to my astonishment, that Margaret was weeping. She rose and hugged me and started sobbing louder.

“You’re going to be all right,” she kept repeating. “Oh, Lydia, you’re going to be all right.”

Dr. Wilson was explaining a new medication he’d prescribed for me and the side effects, but nothing he said made sense just then. I was too happy to care.

Margaret and I both went from open weeping to ridiculous amusement, and our reactions were almost perfectly synchronized. Our giggles must have sounded hysterical. Margaret placed the tips of her fingers against her lips and refused to look at me. She made an effort to focus on what Dr. Wilson was trying to explain. None of it mattered. All I knew was that I had my life back. My beautiful, wonderful life was my own once again.

Not until we were outside the office did I think about Brad. “Margaret,” I said, gripping my sister by the arm as the happiness drained out of me. We stood in front of the elevator. Margaret must have heard the distress in my voice because her smile faded.

“What?”

“Brad … I was so cruel to him when all he wanted to do was help.”

Margaret was obviously struggling not to scream I told you so at me, but all she said was, “Talk to him.”

I’d missed Brad dreadfully and I longed to call him, but I couldn’t. He’d attempted to visit me twice more while I was hospitalized, but I’d refused to see him. He’d asked the nurse to deliver a letter to me. I knew if I read it he’d change my mind, so I’d asked her to take it away, sight unseen.

Later the nurse returned and told me Brad had been waiting for a reply and she’d been forced to tell him I wouldn’t read his letter. Now it all seemed melodramatic and senseless. I might well have ruined the most promising relationship of my life.

“I can try to talk to Brad, but I don’t know if he’ll listen.” I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to see me again. My one hope was that he couldn’t very well ignore me when he made deliveries to my store.

Bright and early Tuesday morning, I was back in business. I can’t even begin to explain the thrill it gave me to walk into my shop and turn the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. Even the noise from the construction across the street couldn’t dampen my good mood.

Reality intruded with a list of instructions from Dr. Wilson. I was apparently a good candidate for this new drug treatment to prevent the growth of future tumors.

My morning was constantly busy as customers streamed into the store, all with questions as to why I’d been away for most of a week. It turns out that many of them had learned I was back—one person phoned another who called a third, and so forth. I can’t even describe how gratifying that was. Margaret had done her best to be helpful, keeping the store open for part of every day, but my customers were accustomed to dealing with me.

Margaret seemed to have enjoyed working at the store. As little as three months ago, I couldn’t have imagined thinking warmly of my older sister. I was deeply appreciative of everything she’d done for me.

At noon, when I had my first lull of the day, I glanced anxiously out the shop windows, hoping for a glimpse of Brad. When the big brown truck rolled to a stop in front of the floral shop, I nearly raced out the door. But the UPS driver wasn’t Brad.

“Where’s Brad?” I blurted out.

The replacement glanced over his shoulder at the abruptness of my question. “Brad is no longer on this route.”

“What do you mean he’s no longer on this route?” I demanded. It felt as if the sidewalk had started to buckle beneath my feet. I couldn’t believe Brad would do anything as drastic as this.

“Brad’s delivering in the downtown area now.”

I knew what had happened. “He requested a transfer, didn’t he?”

The UPS driver shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. Sorry.”

“Do you ever see him?” I asked, hoping to use the other man to relay a message.

“Not much.” He was preoccupied, and I was clearly detaining him, so I returned to my store, my steps dragging.

I knew that what I’d done to Brad was wrong. I’d badly hurt the one person who’d proved himself to me over and over. All I could do was hope it wasn’t too late to make amends.

41
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

“Jacqueline.”

Her name seemed to come from far away.

“Jacqueline.” It was louder this time and she recognized Reese’s voice. Her eyes flew open and she stared up in the darkness to find her husband standing over her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. Something drastic must have happened for Reese to enter her bedroom in the middle of the night

“Paul just phoned—Tammie Lee’s in labor.”

“Now?”

“When did a baby ever decide to arrive at a decent hour?”

He obviously didn’t expect a response and she didn’t give him one. “What did Paul say?”

“Just that he’s been at the hospital since ten.”

A quick glance at her clock told her it was nearly five.

“She’s close to delivery,” her husband finished.

Jacqueline didn’t hesitate. She tossed aside the comforter and automatically reached for her robe.

“You actually want to go to the hospital?” Reese sounded surprised.

“Of course.” He could do as he damn well pleased and, as a matter of fact, had for the last twelve years of their marriage. But nothing he said would keep her away from the birth of her granddaughter. Already Jacqueline had thrust her feet into her slippers and started toward her bathroom.

“I’m coming, too,” Reese announced as if he anticipated an argument.

“Do whatever you want.”

He ignored her petulant remark. “Don’t take long,” he warned. “From what Paul said, it could be any time now.”

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” In the best of circumstances, that was a stretch, but Jacqueline was determined to keep her word. Exactly thirteen minutes later, she met Reese who sat in the car waiting. He had the garage door open and the engine running, ready to go.

They were silent on the ride to the hospital and Jacqueline wondered if his thoughts were the same as hers. It’d been on a night such as this that he’d rushed her to the hospital to deliver Paul. Her water had broken in the middle of the night and in a panic, fearing any movement might endanger the baby, she’d clung to Reese. Her one concern was to keep the cord from tangling around the baby’s neck.

In true heroic fashion, Reese had swept her into his arms, carried her to the car and driven to the hospital. Fortunately, there was virtually no traffic, since he took the corners at a speed any racecar driver might have envied. Then her hero had carried her into the hospital waiting area. Reese had stayed with her until Paul entered the world. Closing her eyes, she could still hear her son’s first high-pitched wail. At the time, it had been the most glorious sound she’d ever heard.

When they arrived at the hospital, they parked quickly. Together, walking side by side, they hurried into the lobby and were directed to the birthing center on the fifth floor.

At the reception desk, Reese gave their names to the nurse, who suggested they take a seat in the waiting room. While Jacqueline sorted through the magazines, Reese went to see if he could round them up a cup of coffee.

He returned five minutes later with two steaming cups. “It came out of a machine,” he said with a shrug.

At this point, Jacqueline didn’t care as long as it was hot and contained caffeine.

They sat two chairs apart in the deserted room and sipped their tasteless coffee. Half an hour and three magazines later, Paul appeared, wearing a light-blue hospital gown. He looked tired, but his eyes smiled when he saw them.

“Tammie Lee’s doing just great,” he told them. “The baby should be here within the hour.”

“Great.”

“Do you want to come in for the actual birth?” he asked.

“Me?” Jacqueline shook her head. This was a private moment between her son and his wife, and she didn’t want to intrude. Not to mention that births were messy …

“Of course. If you want,” Paul said, his expression filled with excitement. “Tammie Lee said you were welcome to be there, Mom.”

Jacqueline couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her son so happy. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather wait here, but you will let me know as soon as the baby’s born, won’t you?”

“You and Dad will be the first to know.”

Paul returned to Tammie Lee then, and it was just Jacqueline and Reese again. They ignored each other, sipping their coffee and thumbing through old magazines.

“Do you remember the night Paul was born?” Reese asked her unexpectedly.

Jacqueline laughed. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“I was so proud of you that night.”

“For giving you a son, you mean?”

“No … well, yes, I was happy to have a son, but I would’ve been equally pleased with a daughter.” Jacqueline nodded.

“What I meant was, you impressed me with your courage and determination.”

He sounded unaccountably serious, but Jacqueline had difficulty believing he’d ever been “impressed” with her. It struck her as an odd word to use.

“I remember how the other women in the labor room moaned and carried on and asked for drugs, but not you. Not my Jacquie.”

Dignified even in the face of unyielding labor pains—that was her, all right. Jacqueline knew he intended it as a compliment and sent him a brief smile. “Despite the pain, it was one of the best nights of my life.”

“Because of Paul.”

Jacqueline lowered her gaze. “Actually, no. Because of you.”

“Me?” He gave a clipped laugh, as if he didn’t quite believe her, either. She wondered when they’d started to doubt each other and then she knew. It had been about the time he’d begun his affair.

“As we were driving here I was remembering the night Paul was born.”

Reese nodded. “I was thinking about that myself.”

“Do you recall the way you carried me to the car? It was such a … swashbuckling thing to do. I wasn’t exactly a lightweight at the time.”

“Your hero,” Reese teased.

Sadness seemed to weigh her down. “You were my hero,” she whispered and to cover up how wretched she felt, she sipped the last of her coffee.

“But no more,” Reese murmured.

Her lack of response was as clear as agreement would have been. She looked away, struggling with her composure. A part of her wanted to ask why he found her so lacking that he’d turned to another woman, but the pain of it was too great. She feared that whatever he might tell her would hurt even more than knowing he was with someone else.

He didn’t say anything or glance in her direction.

It occurred to her then, sitting in this hospital waiting room with Reese, that perhaps this was the very moment she should say something. Perhaps she should offer an overture, try to bridge this gap between them. She’d loved Reese so much at one time. Oh damn, she might as well admit it: despite everything, she still loved him. Seeing the love Paul and Tammie Lee shared was almost painful for her because she recognized how much she’d lost. To outward appearances she lived a wonderful life. She didn’t need to worry about money, she had a lovely house, her friends were plentiful. Nevertheless, she was miserable and lonely.

“I …” Reese said when the distinct sound of a baby’s cry traveled down the hallway.

Startled, they stared at each other.

“Do you think that’s her?” Jacqueline asked, surging to her feet.

“I don’t know.” Reese was standing now, too.

“Maybe we should ask the nurse?” she suggested.

Reese took her by the elbow and they walked to the nurses’ station.

“We just heard an infant cry,” Reese told the woman, giving her their names.

“We were wondering if that could possibly be our granddaughter,” Jacqueline added, keeping her voice hushed so she wouldn’t disturb others.

“I’ll check for you,” she said, and disappeared into one of the birthing rooms. She was gone only a few moments; when she returned, she carried two light-blue gowns. “Put these on, and you can join your family.”

Jacqueline didn’t hesitate and neither did Reese. When they were ready, the woman led them into the birthing room. This was nothing like the room where Jacqueline had delivered Paul all those years ago. Sofa, chairs, television and even a large swirling bathtub. Goodness, if she hadn’t known better, Jacqueline would’ve thought she’d walked into a hotel suite.

Tammie Lee was in bed, smiling over at Paul who held their baby girl. Her daughter-in-law’s face was red, her hair matted with sweat, and tears glistened in her eyes, but she’d never looked lovelier, Jacqueline thought.

“Mom and Dad,” Paul said, gently cradling the bundled infant in his arms. “This is Amelia Jacqueline Donovan.”

All at once it felt as if Jacqueline’s heart had stopped beating. She blinked back unexpected tears. “You named her after me?”

“Amelia was my grandmother’s name and we chose Jacqueline because we both love you,” Tammie Lee said.

The tears rolled unrestrained down Jacqueline’s cheeks as she gazed down on this precious child named in her honor.

“Would you like to hold your granddaughter, Mom?” Paul asked.

Jacqueline nodded as silent tears of joy burned her face. Her son placed the baby in her arms. Unusual though it seemed, Jacqueline was sure little Amelia opened her eyes and looked directly up at her. Invisible threads linked their hearts and in that moment, she knew she was going to love this child more than life itself. She smiled at Tammie Lee through her tears. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. Then she glanced at Reese and noticed he had tears in his eyes, too.

Very gently, her husband bent down and kissed Amelia’s forehead. After a brief pause, he kissed Jacqueline’s cheek.

“Now you have the daughter you always wanted,” he whispered.

Not until much later in the day, after Jacqueline had bought out the baby sections at three department stores, did she realize what her husband had really been saying.

Reese hadn’t been talking about Amelia. He’d meant Tammie Lee.

42
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

“You like Jordan, don’t you?” Laurel asked Alix early Wednesday morning. Alix was getting ready for work.

Like Jordan? That was an understatement if ever there was one. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You trust him?”

She nodded, and then shrugged. “Sure.” Quickly her suspicions rose. “Do you know a reason I shouldn’t?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?” she demanded.

“I don’t know…. I guess I’m hoping you learned from my mistake. You tried to tell me John was no good, but I wouldn’t listen and now look at me,” she muttered, her bitterness so intense it soured her words.

As for looking at Laurel, all Alix could see was a grossly overweight girl with stringy blond hair who sat on her ass in front of the TV most days. But as long as Laurel made her share of the rent payment, Alix didn’t care how she spent her days. She’d quit two jobs, the video store and the day care center, and was currently working at a dry cleaner. She hadn’t lasted a month at the day care center and said she’d hated it.

“When you and Jordan went out on that fancy dinner date, what did you talk about?” her roommate pressed.

Laurel had certainly taken an interest in Jordan all of a sudden. “I don’t know,” she returned flippantly. “Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Why all the interest?” Alix was surprised she was even having a conversation with her roommate, but she wasn’t really comfortable with the subject.

“I mean, what do you talk about with a minister?”

“Youth minister,” she corrected. “I knew him when we were in grade school, you know. He’s just like everyone else.” More than once he’d proven he was human—in temperament and in the easy passion that flared between them. So far, everything had been kept under control, but Alix knew she tempted him as much as he tempted her. Jordan might work for the church, but he was very much a man.

“Tell me what you talked about, okay?” Laurel insisted. She seemed close to tears. Alix couldn’t imagine why this was so important.

“I told him I wanted to be a chef one day or have my own catering company. We talked about me getting into a good cooking school—not that it’s ever likely.” That was only a small part of their conversation. Jordan had a gift for drawing people out and making them feel as if they were the center of the universe.

“You want to be a chef?”

Alix shrugged. This shouldn’t be any newsflash to Laurel who’d lived with her for the past year. Any real cooking had been done by her; Laurel had specialized in stocking the kitchen with ice cream, toaster waffles and potato chips. But then Alix realized they’d never taken the time to be more than roommates. Until recently, she’d never really confided her hopes and dreams in Laurel—or in anyone, she supposed. Alix had few friends, although she felt a connection with the women in her knitting class.

Ever since her breakup with the used-car salesman, Laurel had spent most of her time alone. Her self-pity had quickly irritated Alix. She didn’t consider the relationship any big loss, but apparently Laurel thought otherwise.

“Does he know about your mother?” Laurel asked next.

The fact that her mother was currently serving time in the Women’s Correctional Center at Purdy wasn’t a fact Alix willingly broadcast. “I told him.” There was little Jordan didn’t know about her. She didn’t want any unpleasant surprises in their relationship. He knew her mother had gone to prison for the attempted murder of Alix’s father, too.

“Do you ever think about her?”

“Not much.” Alix found all these questions mildly annoying, but Laurel had been so moody lately that she wanted to encourage her to continue chatting.

“Do you love her?”

“My mother?” That question took some real soul-searching, but she was determined to be honest. If she was, then maybe Laurel would be honest with her. “I suppose I do. I don’t have any contact with her because when she writes, all she wants from me is money or cigarettes. She never asks about me or shows any interest in my life. I don’t need her.” She said this in a casual way, as if it was well understood that she didn’t need anyone. “My only worry is that one day I’ll end up just like her.”

“Not you,” Laurel said with complete confidence. “You’re too strong for that.”

Alix didn’t see herself as strong, but it pleased her that Laurel thought so.

“You’d never let anyone hurt you or use you the way John used me,” she whispered.

“Get over him,” Alix said for the thousandth time. She couldn’t understand why Laurel had clung to a man who’d treated her so abominably. It didn’t make sense, especially when she hadn’t seen any sign of him in months.

Laurel looked away.

“You need to get out more,” Alix told her.

Her roommate sighed unhappily. “I don’t like anyone to see me when I’m so fat.”

“Then stop eating.”

“You make it sound easy, but it isn’t, you know. It’s hard to stop.”

“Then take a walk every day. Walk instead of taking the bus. You’ll be surprised at how quickly the fat will melt away with a little exercise.”

“Like you know anything about needing to lose weight! You’re perfect.”

Alix hadn’t realized her roommate had such a high opinion of her figure, but she was far from having a perfect body.

“Do you think you’ll marry Jordan?”

Alix brushed aside the question with a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, right.” She grabbed her purse on the way to the door, but hesitated after twisting the knob. “Promise me you’ll get out today. It doesn’t do any good to sit around here and mope.”

“All right.”

Alix had just stepped out when Laurel stopped her. “Alix, thank you.”

“For what?”

The question had apparently caught Laurel off guard. “For being my friend.”

“Sure. No problem.”

It seemed odd for Laurel to thank her, but Alix let the comment slide as she headed for the video store. Without Laurel there to keep her company, the days dragged. She felt guilty now that she hadn’t talked to her roommate lately. In her own estimation, Alix hadn’t been a good friend, but then Laurel had been pretty unpleasant, so she’d avoided her as much as possible. Any time Alix had tried to talk to her, which wasn’t often, Laurel had put her off. Her roommate’s one solace seemed to be ice cream. Alix considered her weak-willed, but now she saw how easy it was to judge. That morning’s conversation was the first they’d had in weeks, and she was feeling more sympathetic toward her.

During her lunch break, Alix returned to the apartment, hoping to coax Laurel out. Maybe Laurel would be inclined to exercise if Alix offered to walk with her. To her surprise, Laurel wasn’t there. She didn’t keep tabs on Laurel’s work schedule, and her hours seemed to change from week to week. Either Laurel was at work right now or she’d taken Alix’s advice.

On the off-chance that Laurel was out walking, Alix started down Blossom Street, hoping to run into her. When she did find Laurel, however, she wasn’t alone.

Jordan was with her.

They sat on a park bench in a shady area of the church grounds. Their heads were close together and they seemed engrossed in conversation.

Alix’s initial reaction was anger, followed by a surge of jealousy. All those questions about Jordan had been a way of finding out about him so she could steal him away. Alix was half-tempted to march over and let it be known that she didn’t appreciate her roommate butting in on her boyfriend. This was what she got for sympathizing with Laurel, for making an effort to help her.

Then she watched as her roommate broke into tears, buried her face in her hands and hunched forward. Jordan placed his hand on her back, and although Alix was too far away to hear, it looked like he was praying with her.

This was one of the qualities she loved about Jordan. There didn’t seem to be anything she couldn’t tell him. He genuinely cared for people and longed to comfort them. She had no right to be jealous. Nor did she have a single reason to doubt Jordan. Not once had he misled her or abused their friendship.

They’d talked about the meaning of trust and after the incident with the pastor’s daughter, he’d asked her to trust him. It’d been easy to assure him she did—but at the time he wasn’t touching her roommate. Determined to put her promise into action, she turned away and went back to work.

Just before closing, Jordan came to the video store. “How about a coffee when you’re through?” he said.

“Sure.” She couldn’t help the burst of happiness she felt.

He suggested they meet at Annie’s Café and she agreed. He was in a booth, with two cups of coffee waiting by the time Alix joined him.

“How was your day?” he asked.

“Fine. How about yours?” She gave him a sharp look, despite everything she’d promised herself earlier. If he’d been talking to Laurel, she wanted to know why.

Jordan didn’t answer right away. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“Should I?” She tried to make a joke of it, then decided that wasn’t fair. Holding her mug with both hands, she stared down at the steaming coffee. “I saw you and Laurel earlier.”

Jordan didn’t offer an explanation. “That bothers you?”

She shrugged. “It did at first, but then I thought … well, that’s your business, not mine. I don’t have any hold on you.”

“You’re only partially right.”

“How’s that?”

He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. His mouth gently grazed the inside of her palm. “You have a very strong hold on my heart.”

“Oh.” From any other man it would have sounded corny, but not Jordan. “Are you going to tell me what you and Laurel were talking about?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Are you going to trust me?”

She stared at him hard and long. Every instinct demanded that she find out what she could. Yet at the same time, she longed to believe him. Finally, with a smile, she nodded.

She hoped it was the right decision. Because a betrayal by Jordan would hurt more than any other betrayal she’d suffered in her whole life.

43
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol stood in the doorway of what would’ve been the baby’s nursery, and her eyes fell on the empty crib with the mobile dangling above it. Tiny zoo animals hung from a small umbrella with a music box attachment. She didn’t know why she was torturing herself like this. Nothing was going to change.

Doug came and stood behind her. “I’ll call and arrange for the department store to pick up the furniture.”

“No … don’t. Please.”

“But …”

“I made an appointment with an adoption agency.” She said the words in a rush, as if to convince him that this was the logical next step.

She felt Doug tense.

“We can’t give up now,” she implored. She couldn’t forget her need for a child. She’d tried. She’d had to accept the fact that there would be no biological child for her, but she couldn’t entirely let go of their dream. “I want so badly to be a mother. I need to be a mother. Just like you need to be a father …”

Doug’s shoulders sagged and he didn’t speak.

“I have to do this,” she pleaded. They’d discussed adoption any number of times, but always as a last resort. Carol had held on to this last thread of hope, and yet she’d feared Doug’s reaction. He’d been so quiet lately; she could feel him withdrawing from her emotionally and she couldn’t endure it.

“You’re sure you want me to go to an adoption agency with you?” he asked.

“Of course! It’s important that we prove we’re good candidates as adoptive parents.”

Her husband’s mouth thinned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think having a crib and a change table is going to sway an agency to choose us as potential parents.”

“I know, but it can’t hurt. I want the agency to see that we’re ready, and that we could take a baby at any time.”

He turned away from her, walked into the living room, and stood in front of the large picture window that overlooked Puget Sound.

“You don’t want to go to the interview?” Carol asked as she joined her husband. They stood side by side without touching. Like Doug, she kept her gaze trained on the waterfront.

“How much is this going to cost?”

Carol didn’t have an answer for him. The initial interview required a five-hundred-dollar deposit and as for the actual adoption, she didn’t know. “It costs as much as it costs,” she said. Whatever it was, she didn’t care.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you have any idea how much we’ve already invested in this quest for a child?”

She didn’t and furthermore it didn’t matter. As far as she was concerned, money was of little consequence. “Not really.”

“There’s a limit,” Doug said starkly, “and frankly I’ve reached it.”

“All right, then,” she snapped. “I’ll go back to work if that’s what you want. The only reason I didn’t suggest it earlier is because I thought the adoption agency would prefer a stay-at-home mother, and that might put us closer to the top of the list. But I’ll go back to work if you want me to.”

Doug turned to face her. “This is exactly what I mean,” he shouted. “We’re no longer a couple. Everything we do revolves around a baby. We used to laugh together, go out, have fun.”

“We still do,” she countered, but when she searched her memory, she realized he was right.

“I’ve been as patient with this whole process as I can stand.” Anger vibrated from him. “It costs too damn much and I—”

“In other words, money is all you’re worried about?”

“If you’d allow me to finish,” he said slowly, enunciating each word, “you’d have heard me say that the emotional price is too damn high.” He shook his head. “I can’t stand seeing you go through this pain and turmoil when the procedures don’t even work—injections five times a day, seeing the doctor every forty-eight hours…. It’s taken over your life. Our lives.”

She agreed the toll on their emotions, especially in the last few months, had been extreme. One day she was filled with despair and the next, riding a wave of hope and optimism. That was when she’d assumed Rick’s baby might be available to them. The only avenue left open to them now was adoption. They had to try. Doug couldn’t mean they should stop!

“Now you want to drag us through yet another emotional quagmire and, Carol, as much as I love you, I don’t think I can do it.”

“You have to,” she cried.

“Why?” he shouted. “Why is it always about you and your need for a baby?”

In all the years of their marriage she’d never heard Doug use this tone of voice with her. “I—it’s for us.”

“Not more than five minutes ago, you admitted the baby was for you. It’s all about your need to be a mother. You, you, you. What about me, Carol? What about my needs? What about my wants?”

“I—”

“For the last … dear God, how many years has it been? Five, six? The entire focus of our lives has been on getting you pregnant. That apparently isn’t going to happen, so fine, let’s deal with it and get on with our lives.”

“But …”

“I don’t want to adopt.”

The world all but exploded in pain and disbelief. “You don’t mean that.” Was Doug telling the truth? He couldn’t be. He was emotionally drained. She understood, because she’d hit bottom herself, but she’d recovered and Doug would, too, given time.

“I do mean it.”

“But … you just told me we could go to the appointment with the agency.” Carol was counting on that.

“You go. I don’t want to.”

“But … why?”

“Because I can already see what it’s doing to you.”

She’d never known Doug to be so unreasonable. “What exactly is it doing to me?”

“We have to prove to complete strangers that we’re worthy of being parents. I feel like a beggar singing and dancing, cap in hand. All so someone I don’t even know will like me enough to consider me father material.”

“You’ll be a wonderful father!”

“Would have been,” he muttered.

His words scored deep wounds in her heart. Would have been.

“I can’t do this anymore, Carol. I’m not the man you think I am. I want out.”

“Do you want out of the marriage?” she asked through numb lips, hardly able to say the words.

“No. I vowed to love you and I do.”

“You make it sound as if this is some promise you made and regret,” she said bitterly. “Would you have married me if you’d known I couldn’t have children?”

His hesitation was just long enough to supply the answer.

Her pain was so intense that for one unbelievable moment the room went dark and she started to sway.

Doug’s arms came around her, and he buried his face in her shoulder. “I was crazy in love with you when we got married and I’m just as crazy in love with you now. I want us to stay married, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I … I can’t have a baby.”

“I know and I accept that.”

“No, you don’t.” He might be saying it, but deep down he’d always resent the fact that she couldn’t give him children.

“I do,” he said sharply, “but I need you to accept it, too. Let go of this, Carol. Accept the fact that we just weren’t meant to be parents.”

“But we could be someday. If we put our name in with the agency, then—”

“Then what? Three, four, five years from now—if we’re fortunate—we might be chosen as worthy recipients of an infant? Do you realize I’ll be forty-four in five years’ time? I’d be sixty-two when our child graduated from high school.”

Carol hid her face against her husband’s chest. Her emotions reeled with the impact of what he’d said. Doug was right. It was time to surrender this need. She’d never been a quitter, didn’t know how to give up. Everything she’d ever set her mind to, she’d accomplished. Except for this … Her effort to have a child had become the focus of her life; more than that, it had become the purpose of her life. Her clenched-teeth determination was ruining their marriage.

Doug released her and walked away. Carol stood frozen and miserable, shaking with a combination of too many emotions, but mostly defeat.

The front door opened and she whirled around. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I need to think.”

“When will you be back?” Her eyes begged him not to leave her, but she refused to ask him to stay.

“I … don’t know.”

She nodded and turned back, hands to her mouth.

“We both need to think this through, Carol.”

She nodded silently. The choice was clear. Either she renounced this need or she ruined her marriage and both their lives in the process.

It was nightfall before Doug returned. Carol sat in the darkened living room, curled up tight on the sofa with her arms circling her knees.

Doug came slowly into the room. “Are you okay?”

She wasn’t yet, but in time she’d adjust. “I cancelled the appointment with the adoption agency.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets. “You can deal with that?”

She nodded. She had to accept that there would be no baby.

Doug sat down across from her and leaned forward, bracing his arms against his knees. His shoulders drooped.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“A walk.”

“For three hours?”

He nodded.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

He shook his head.

“I phoned Bon-Macy’s. They’re coming to collect the baby furniture next week.”

He stared down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I am, too.” Sorrier than he’d ever know.

Doug extended his arm to her. “We’ll be all right, just the two of us.”

“Yes,” she whispered as her fingers clasped his. It was true. It would be true.

It had to be true.

44
CHAPTER

“Knitting is a haven, a safe place where one can touch history, dance with art and create a peaceful life.”

—Nancy Bush, author of Folk Socks

LYDIA HOFFMAN

At first I was angry when I didn’t hear from Brad. After all his affirmations about being there for the long haul, he’d walked out on me like every other man in my life, with the exception of my father. A thousand times over, I wished I’d read his letter. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer—I had to know.

I turned to my sister for advice; I’d come to rely on her more and more, especially in emotional matters. So on Monday, I called her.

“Where are you?” Margaret demanded immediately after I’d said hello.

“At the shop.”

“It’s Monday. I thought you took Mondays off.”

“I do, but there are always a million things to do here and well, it’s where I’m most comfortable.” I did all my best thinking with walls of yarn around me. I’d always looked upon skeins of yarn as unfulfilled promises—the way some people, writers or artists, look at a blank page. The potential is there, and it’s up to us to make something with that yarn or write something on that page. It’s the sense of possibility I find so exciting.

Actually, I gave a lot of thought to that analogy. My relationship with Brad held promise and because of my fears I’d let him go. I didn’t do anything with all those possibilities.

“You’re calling about Brad, aren’t you?”

Sometimes Margaret seems like a mind-reader. “If you must know … yes. Have you heard from him?”

“Me? What makes you think he’d contact me?”

“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Even over the telephone line, I could tell my sister was amused by my question.

“Are you going to call him?”

The idea had been swirling around inside my head all week. “I might.”

“Then why are you calling me?” The gruffness I’d experienced so often with her was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe because I was hoping you’d tell me I was doing the right thing and that I wouldn’t make a complete idiot of myself in the process.”

Margaret hesitated for only a moment. “If I were you, I’d go for it.”

“You would?” Hope sprang to life.

“Call me back once you do, okay?”

“Okay.” I had to pause to be sure the warmth in her voice was directed at me. “Margaret.” I swallowed, finding it difficult to continue.

“What?”

“I wanted to thank you for being so wonderful these last few months.”

My gratitude must have taken her aback, because she didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Time seemed to be suspended and then I thought I heard a soft sigh.

“It’s very nice to have a sister, you know,” she whispered.

I couldn’t have agreed with her more.

Once I’d determined that the only thing to do was call Brad, I was on a mission. I’d rehearsed several approaches before I dialed his home number later that evening.

His son answered on the second ring. “Hello, Cody,” I said.

“Hi.” He sounded unsure as if he didn’t recognize my voice.

“I’m Lydia. Remember? We met a little while ago.”

“I remember! You’re the lady who owns the yarn store. You said you were going to knit me a cool sweater with a green-and-yellow dinosaur on it.”

I smiled to myself. “I’ve already started it.” I’d put the project aside when I went into the hospital, but with concentrated effort, I could have it finished by the end of the week. “Is your dad home?”

“Just a minute. I’ll get him for you.”

My heart died a hundred deaths in the time it took Brad to pick up the receiver. It must’ve been less than a minute but it seemed closer to an hour before I heard his familiar voice.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” My mouth was so dry, my tongue refused to cooperate. “It’s Lydia.” His silence was nearly my undoing, but I forged ahead, simultaneously blessing and cursing Margaret for encouraging this.

“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.

“Could we meet and talk?” I asked.

“When?”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you.” I wanted to shout the sooner, the better, but it depended on his schedule and not mine.

“All right. I’ll let you know when I can arrange it.”

I waited for him to say something else and when he didn’t, I had no choice but to end the conversation. “I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” The line went dead and I was left standing with the receiver in my hand and the dial tone in my ear.

This was much worse than I’d imagined. I’d secretly hoped that once Brad heard the sound of my voice, he’d be so pleased that whatever pain I’d caused him would evaporate. How foolish I’d been not to consider his feelings.

Over the years Margaret’s complaint about me had been that I was self-absorbed. I know she resented the fact that Mom and Dad focused their attention on helping me through my ordeals. I’d always believed that her accusations were unfair, based on her own jealousies and insecurities, but now I began to see things differently.

How cheated she must have felt. Cheated and abandoned. For the first time, I wondered if she could be right about me. I couldn’t have done anything about my cancer, but I could’ve changed my reaction to it. I had the victim mentality down to an art form.

I remained standing in my kitchen, toying with the idea of calling Margaret again, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

“I can meet you in half an hour at The Pour House.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes,” he said as if that should be obvious.

“All right.” The phone clicked as he hung up.

Within five minutes I’d brushed my hair and dabbed my wrists with a lovely French perfume my dad had given me years ago—the one I saved for my most special occasions. On my way out the door, I grabbed a light sweater.

I’d found a corner booth and paid for a pitcher of beer by the time Brad walked into the pub. He glanced around, saw me and then headed toward the booth. He slid in across from me.

Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop watching him. All of a sudden, my eyes started to fill with tears. I would die of mortification if he noticed. I did everything but dive headfirst into my mug of beer in an effort to hide this ridiculous crying jag.

Of course he noticed.

“Lydia, are you crying?”

I nodded and dug frantically in my purse for a tissue. “I am so sorry,” I sobbed, hiccuping in an effort to hold back the tears.

“For crying?”

I nodded, letting my head bob a time or two more than necessary. “For everything. I treated you terribly.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I was so afraid and—”

“You didn’t read my letter.”

“I know.” I paused long enough to blow my nose. “I couldn’t, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep you out of my life. I had to let you go, for your protection and for mine.”

Brad lifted the pitcher and refilled my mug. “I prefer to make my own decisions.”

“I know, but …” All my excuses sounded hollow and insincere now. “Margaret thinks I’m self-absorbed and she’s right. I’m so sorry, Brad, for … everything.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me? Why you called and asked me to meet you?”

I nodded again. It was what I’d wanted to say, but there were other things, too. My throat seemed to close up, and the silence that fell between us felt utterly unmanageable.

“There’s more.”

Brad looked up from his beer expectantly. He wasn’t making this easy, but then I didn’t deserve that.

“Ever since I met you, since we started seeing each other, I’ve been … happy.”

He shrugged. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I know … You see, I’ve realized I have a hard time handling life when everything’s going smoothly. I’m not used to being happy and I don’t know how to deal with it. So I do something stupid to mess it up.”

“You figured this out on your own?”

I shook my head. “Margaret helped.” None too gently, either, but he didn’t need to know that. My relationship with my sister was still complicated, but now I knew she cared about me.

“Ah yes, Margaret. Little Ms. Matchmaker.”

“She’s all right.” It surprised me how defensive I felt toward her.

“Yes, she is—and so are you.”

I smiled through my tears. “Thank you.”

He took a deep swallow of beer. “Okay, now that the apology’s out of the way, where does that leave us?”

I didn’t know what to tell him. “Where would you like our relationship to go?” My heart was hammering so loudly, it was nearly impossible to hear my own thoughts.

“In the same direction it was headed until your most recent tests.” His look grew intense as he reached across the table for my hand. “What about you, Lydia? What do you want?”

“I want the entire month wiped from my memory and I want us to go back to the way things were before and … and I want us to be close again.” Then, because he should know, I added, “But it’s important that you understand there are no guarantees.”

“Your sister told me everything.”

“Everything?” Then he knew. “And you still want …”

“I want you more than ever, Lydia, but I don’t want you shoving me out of your life because you think I can’t deal with your illness. Let me make that decision for myself.”

It was hard to give him that control, but I knew he was right. He was asking more of me than he realized.

“I can’t make you any promises,” he continued, “but I can tell you that I care for you a great deal.”

“I care for you, too.”

“That’s a starting point, and where it leads neither of us can know.” He smiled at me with those devilish blue eyes and I understood that Brad Goetz wasn’t going to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. He was a man I could trust. A man I could lean on. A man who was my father’s equal in every way.

45
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Jacqueline knew she should give her son and daughter-in-law time alone with Amelia, but she couldn’t make herself stay away. The baby had filled a deep emotional void in her, one she’d ignored for years. But the love that blossomed in her heart refused to be ignored. Whenever she held Amelia, the ties that bound her to her granddaughter seemed to grow stronger, more constant and enduring.

Amelia was in her arms now as Jacqueline gently rocked her to sleep. She breathed in the baby’s pure scent, and in a rush of nostalgia remembered holding Paul just this way.

“You look so peaceful,” Tammie Lee said, coming into the nursery with a new package of disposable diapers. She set them on the dresser and turned to watch Jacqueline with Amelia.

Jacqueline glanced up. “Peaceful is how I feel.” She supposed she should apologize for dominating so much of Tammie Lee’s time. She’d been over to the house every day since Amelia had come home from the hospital, and some days she visited twice.

“I don’t mean to make a pest of myself,” Jacqueline murmured, a bit embarrassed at her own behavior.

“Nonsense.” Tammie Lee dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think it’s possible to give a baby too much love.” She walked to the dresser and pulled out a new infant’s outfit. “Too many clothes, though—that’s something else. I’m not sure she’ll ever be able to wear everything you bought her.”

Jacqueline tried to hide her amusement. “I did go a little crazy.”

“Paul says he’s never seen you like this.”

“I had no idea I was going to love her so much.” Jacqueline cringed whenever she thought about her longheld resentment of Tammie Lee, and her anger when she’d first learned about the pregnancy. To her horror, she remembered calling Tammie Lee a “breeder,” certain she was manipulating Paul. Instead, Jacqueline had finally discovered what everyone else had seen about Tammie Lee from the beginning—she was a genuine and compassionate woman.

“You can love her for my mama,” Tammie Lee whispered. “I so wish she was well enough to travel.”

The idea of sharing Amelia with another grandmother made her feel shockingly possessive, but Jacqueline couldn’t begrudge Tammie Lee’s mother her precious granddaughter.

“Mama already has five granddaughters, though. And three grandsons.”

“A bounty of riches.”

“That’s what my mama says, too. She says she’s the luckiest woman in the world to be blessed with such beautiful, talented grandchildren.”

“Amelia’s the most incredible baby in the universe,” Jacqueline insisted. Tammie Lee chuckled, and Jacqueline didn’t bother to explain that she wasn’t joking. This was one special baby to have four sensible adults completely wrapped around her little finger. Denying this child anything was incomprehensible.

Tammie Lee sat on the end of the bed. “Between you and Paul, I swear Amelia’s in someone’s arms twenty hours a day.”

Jacqueline smiled as the infant slept contentedly. Her tiny mouth moved in a small sucking motion in her sleep.

“Even Reese wants to hold her.”

“Reese has been over?”

“Almost every day, and he always brings her a gift. It’s so sweet the way you two spoil her. Amelia’s just a week old.”

Jacqueline pinched her lips together at this news about her husband’s visits. She hadn’t known that Reese was regularly dropping by, but then she knew very little about his comings and goings. Resolving not to dwell on it, she glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Paul would be back from work soon and it was time for her to leave.

“I should be heading home,” she said reluctantly. The house had never felt emptier than it had in the last few weeks, nor had she experienced such bitter loneliness. Ever since the night Reese had left her so abruptly, claiming a work emergency when she’d known what he was really doing … She refused to imagine Reese with that other woman.

“Is Reese like his son? Does he like to have dinner precisely an hour after he gets home?”

Tammie Lee asked the question in a joking manner, and that was the way Jacqueline should have responded, but at the moment, her granddaughter in her arms, pretense was beyond her. She’d been living a lie for so long, anyone might think it would be second nature. But she discovered, to her dismay, that she couldn’t do it. It was as if holding this innocent child made anything other than the truth seem wrong.

“Reese doesn’t come home on Tuesday nights,” she said starkly.

“Oh, I didn’t know. Does he bowl?”

The question brought a brief smile. Only Tammie Lee would assume that Reese was part of a bowling team. Jacqueline shook her head.

“Mom?”

For a long time Jacqueline had disliked the easy way Tammie Lee had slipped into the habit of calling her “Mom.” Now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“He … has another commitment,” she said.

Tammie Lee didn’t say anything for at least a minute. Then she did something completely unexpected. She sank down on the carpet next to the rocking chair and put her hand on Jacqueline’s knee. The gesture was simple and comforting, and it touched her deeply.

“Did I ever tell you about my uncle Bubba and my aunt Frieda?” She didn’t wait for Jacqueline to answer. “It seems that Bubba—well, actually, that’s not his name, it’s really Othello, but everybody calls him Bubba. It’s a southern thing. Anyway, he took a fancy to the waitress over at the Eat, Gas & Go off Pecan Avenue. Started hanging out there at all hours of the day.”

Six months ago, Jacqueline would have stopped her, but after hearing Tammie Lee’s stories, she’d grown accustomed to the folksy wisdom her daughter-in-law freely dispensed.

“Anyway, Aunt Frieda got wind of what was happening, and she put up the biggest fuss you can imagine.”

“Did she go after the waitress?”

“Aunt Frieda? No way. She tackled my uncle Bubba. She told him she was all the woman he could handle, and if he didn’t believe her, then she’d just have to prove it to him. She told my mama she’d married Bubba and by golly, she wasn’t going to let any waitress lure him away. Next thing I knew, Uncle Bubba was walkin’ around town with a grin as big as a sink hole. Far as I know, he never went near that Eat, Gas & Go again.”

Jacqueline was amused by the story but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that making a fuss over Reese would change anything. “More power to your aunt Frieda,” she said.

“No, Mom,” Tammie Lee said, staring up at her intently. “The power is yours, too. And you can use it as you wish.”

Her daughter-in-law’s words still rang in her mind as Jacqueline drove home. She pulled into the garage and entered the dark and silent house. Martha had left a chef’s salad in the refrigerator for her dinner; she sat down at the kitchen table and nibbled at it, but she didn’t have much appetite. The house seemed full of little sounds. Creaks and moans. They only emphasized the emptiness of the place, and she put on some music to distract herself.

Twenty minutes later, she gave up, deciding to have a bath earlier than usual. After her bath, she generally went to bed to read—and to listen for Reese. Some nights she read until the morning hours without hearing him at all. She’d never acknowledged that she waited for him, but tonight the truth was like an intruder standing in the middle of her bedroom.

Despite all her husband’s years of infidelity, the pain was almost overwhelming. At this very moment, he was with another woman and she’d allowed his philandering to continue, accepted it as if it were normal. Jacqueline realized she couldn’t pretend any longer. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t!

Half-undressed, the bathwater running in the tub, she walked into the kitchen, each step filled with righteous indignation. She jerked open a drawer and reached for the country club directory. Tossing it on the kitchen counter, she searched for Allan Anderson’s number. They’d been good friends for years, and he was the best divorce attorney in town. Once he got his hands on this case, her husband would pay dearly for what he’d done to her and to their lives.

All at once, the virtuous anger left her and she closed the directory, but her hand lingered there.

Dear God in heaven, what was she thinking? She didn’t want a divorce, she wanted her husband. She wanted Reese!

Somehow, some way, she’d have to win him back.

Slowly now, lost in her thoughts, she walked into the bathroom again and turned off the water. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she pressed her fingers to her temples as she considered what to do.

The sound of the garage door closing startled her. Jacqueline stood, her heart pounding at a furious pace. It couldn’t possibly be Reese. Not this early. He was rarely home before nine.

“Reese, is that you?” she called out, then silently chastised herself. Who else could it be? A burglar wasn’t likely to announce his arrival.

“I’m home,” her husband called back flatly.

Slipping on her robe, Jacqueline came out of the bathroom to see her husband standing at the kitchen counter, sorting through the mail. He seemed surprised to see her.

Where she found the courage, Jacqueline didn’t know, but she stepped boldly forward.

Reese casually glanced up. “Yes?”

“It’s over. I want that understood here and now. I won’t put up with this any longer.”

He blinked and stared at her. Thankfully he didn’t make a pretense of not knowing what she meant.

“I won’t,” she repeated.

He continued to stare, his expression incredulous.

“First of all,” she went on, “it’s demeaning to me as your wife. I’ve looked the other way for the last time. I won’t do it again. I tried to pretend it doesn’t matter and for a while I managed to convince myself—but it does. It matters very much.”

“What—”

Jacqueline kept talking. If she didn’t finish this now, while she had the courage, she might not have another chance. “I’ve never been the kind of wife to issue ultimatums or make demands, but I’m doing it now. Whoever she is, get rid of her. I don’t care what it costs. I want her out of your life and mine.”

Reese shook his head, apparently speechless.

“I won’t allow our grandchildren to grow up seeing me treated with that kind of disrespect.” Here she was, having what was possibly the most important discussion of her marriage, while standing barefoot in the middle of her kitchen dressed only in a robe.

Frowning, Reese went back to sorting the mail.

Tammie Lee’s story rolled through her mind and Jacqueline dragged in a fortifying breath. Since she’d come this far, she might as well go for broke. “There’s more,” she announced with as much dignity as she could muster.

“More?”

She nodded and stepped closer. “As a matter of fact, there’s a great deal more. I happen to love you, Reese. I don’t know what went wrong between us and … and whatever it was, I share the blame. But I’m lonely, Reese, and I want you back in my bed.” Her voice caught. For one crazy moment, Jacqueline imagined herself as Tammie Lee’s Aunt Frieda. She propped one hand on her hip, jutted out her shoulder and lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “I promise I’ll be all the woman you’ll ever need.”

The look in her husband’s eyes was beyond description as he dropped the mail. “Jacquie? Are you serious?”

She laughed in a way she hoped sounded sexy and sensuous. “Don’t take my word for it. Come and find out for yourself.”

Reese’s mouth sagged, his face so comically eager that she nearly laughed out loud.

“Jacquie?” He reached for her then, and when his mouth covered hers, it was with the same openmouthed passion they’d experienced in their twenties. In the later years of their marriage, before he’d moved out of her bedroom, their lovemaking had become staid and controlled. Not now. Reese all but ruined her robe in his eagerness to undress her.

When they stumbled into the bedroom and fell onto the bed, they were giggling like teenagers. Their lovemaking was explosive, primal, thrilling. The only sounds to be heard were their moans and deep satisfied sighs.

After they’d finished, Jacqueline lay cradled in her husband’s arms, her eyes moist as she listened to the solid, even beat of Reese’s heart. There was so much that needed to be said, but in the contentment of the moment, none of it seemed important. What mattered was savoring this time, treasuring each other. If nothing else, Jacqueline would have this one night with her husband to remind her that she was very much alive and every inch a woman.

“I never dreamed,” Reese whispered close to her ear. “I’d given up hope that we’d ever share a bed again. I love you. I’ve always loved you, but I didn’t know how to make things different.”

She sighed and kissed his bare chest. “I’m not giving you up.”

“There’s no one else who wants me.”

Jacqueline froze. “What do you mean?”

He gave a resigned sigh. “We’ll speak of this only once and then never again. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“I had an affair ten years ago. Which I realize you knew about. It ended quickly and badly. I felt terrible and I still can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“But every Tuesday night—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I know. I wanted you to think I was still involved. It was stupid and childish, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was looking for a reaction from you. Something—anything—that showed me you cared.”

“The night I made dinner for you and the phone rang and you left….”

“I know what you thought, but you were wrong. It was business. We’d blown a transformer. I swear to you there wasn’t another woman that night or any other night in a very long time.”

“All these years …” She had trouble taking it in.

“Once I started this, I didn’t know how to stop.”

“We’ve both been such fools.” Jacqueline wrapped her arms around his neck and wondered how she’d ever survived outside her husband’s embrace. All this time, the only thing that had stood between them was pride.

“I don’t know what came over you tonight, but I thank God for it,” Reese said.

“You can thank Tammie Lee’s Aunt Frieda.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She pressed her head against his shoulder and smiled. Every day, she found more reasons to be grateful to her daughter-in-law. Reese had been right about that. She finally did have her daughter, and even if Tammie Lee happened to speak with a southern drawl, she was as precious to her as any daughter could be to a mother.

46
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix woke to the sound of smothered groans. Leaning up on one elbow, she stared into the darkness, listening intently. Oddly enough, the muffled agony seemed to be coming from the living room. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she noticed something else out of the ordinary. Laurel’s bed, which was across the room from her own, was empty.

Her roommate had been a real jerk lately. After that one brief episode of friendliness, Laurel had started ignoring her again. They were barely speaking but that was Laurel’s doing, not Alix’s. She’d done her best, tried to maintain a civil relationship. If Laurel said anything to her at all, it was rude or sarcastic.

Alix hadn’t had any news lately about the fate of the apartment complex, but she suspected they’d be losing their place soon. Well, Alix had a plan. Once she had the means, she’d ditch her so-called friend and find a new roommate. The bogus drug bust last spring had been because of Laurel’s stash, not hers. Nevertheless, Alix had paid the price.

In the beginning, Laurel had been apologetic and supportive, looking for ways to make it up to her. That had all changed. Most days she avoided Alix and even when she was around, all she did was sit in front of the television and eat. She hadn’t even gone to her job at the dry-cleaner’s all week.

Lying down again, Alix tugged the sheet up over her shoulders and closed her eyes, determined to go back to sleep. If Laurel was sick, then it was from all the ice cream she’d been eating. She must’ve gained fifty pounds in the last six months. None of her jeans zipped up and she looked grotesquely fat. Their relationship hadn’t been helped by Laurel making a play for Jordan, either. Alix trusted Jordan, but she wasn’t so sure about Laurel. She’d obviously gone to him hoping for sympathy—and who knew what else?

Alix never did learn what that was all about. Jordan hadn’t volunteered and she hadn’t asked. When she’d confronted Laurel, her roommate told her to mind her own freakin’ business.

Alix was determined to blot out the muffled sounds coming from the other room. If Laurel needed her, then she could come and get her. Alix wasn’t about to offer her help.

Just when Alix was drifting back to sleep, she heard a loud moan, as if Laurel was in horrible pain. Although she wasn’t happy about it, Alix tossed aside her sheet and climbed out of bed.

The living room was dark, and it took her a minute to locate Laurel, who was prone on the sofa with her head braced against the arm. Her knees were bent and she’d draped a blanket over her legs.

“What’s wrong?” Alix asked. She wanted it understood that she was none too pleased about having her sleep disturbed.

“Nothing. Go back to bed.”

Alix hesitated, and then decided what the hell. Laurel wasn’t willing to ask her for help. Fine, if that was how she wanted it.

“Whatever.” Alix was two steps into the bedroom when for some reason she stopped. Faintly she heard Laurel whimper what sounded like: oh God, oh God, oh God.

Walking into the room again, Alix decisively flipped on the light. She stood with her hands on her hips, feet apart. “You’re not all right. What’s wrong?”

Laurel flung her head back and forth and refused to answer. Eyes shut against the light, she bit down on her lower lip and blood oozed from the sides of her mouth. Alix stared at her aghast.

“Laurel,” she whispered.

Her roommate urgently stretched out her arm and when Alix took her hand, Laurel held it in a death grip. “Help me,” she cried. “I can’t do this … I thought … oh God, it hurts so much.”

Alix fell to her knees beside the sofa. All at once, everything added up, and what should’ve been obvious suddenly exploded into her awareness. “You’re in labor?”

Laurel nodded. “I couldn’t tell you … I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“Does John know?”

Tears filled Laurel’s eyes. “Why do you think he dumped me? He said he didn’t want the baby. Or me. He promised he’d pay for an abortion, but he didn’t show up with the money and I couldn’t afford it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“How could I?”

“We’re friends.” Some friends. Laurel had let her get arrested and yet she didn’t trust Alix with the fact that she was pregnant.

Laurel closed her eyes and arched her back, moaning again.

Alix would figure it out later. Right now, she needed to get Laurel to a hospital. “I’ll go out and find a phone, call for help.”

“No!” Laurel screamed. Her hand crushed Alix’s fingers. “Don’t leave me. It won’t be long now … it can’t be. I can’t take the pain. I can’t deal with this by myself.”

“What should I do?” Alix had never been with anyone in labor before and had no idea how to help.

“I don’t know,” Laurel gasped, panting and writhing with pain. “I think the baby might be coming,” she cried, all-out panic in her voice. “What should I do? Oh God, what should I do?”

“Stay calm,” Alix said, forcing confidence into her own voice, although her heart was galloping at frightening speed. She peeled back the blanket and saw that Laurel had placed a stack of towels beneath her hips. “I’m going to go and wash my hands.”

“No … Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“All right, all right.” Laurel was rolling her head from side to side once more, her face shiny with sweat.

Alix berated herself for not guessing the truth earlier. But Laurel was overweight, so her pregnancy hadn’t been immediately obvious. She still wore her jeans every day and they seemed to be splitting at the seams, but Alix had assumed the weight gain was from depression and her constant eating.

Alix was only away from Laurel for a moment, but her roommate grabbed her hand the instant she was back. Studying Laurel’s face, Alix saw that she was in terrible pain.

“Look and see,” Laurel implored. “Is it ready to come out yet?”

Alix felt completely inadequate to deliver this child. “Do you have anything for the baby?”

Laurel shook her head. “I don’t want it.”

“Laurel,” she pleaded. “What were you going to do with the baby?” Talk about living in a dream world! Laurel had to know the infant would need clothes and blankets and bottles.

Her friend sobbed. “At first I planned to kill it.”

Alix gasped. “You can’t do that!”

“I don’t want this baby.” Laurel screamed and arched her back again when the pain overtook her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of the sofa as she slammed her eyes shut and panted. She took in deep gulps of air, her shoulders heaving with the effort.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Alix saw that the crown of the baby’s head had appeared, thick with matted blond hair. With the next contraction, Alix carefully placed her hands beneath the tiny skull. Laurel drew in a deep breath and tried to look down at the baby but couldn’t.

“It won’t be much longer now,” Alix promised. She felt frightened and helpless and she hoped she was telling the truth.

No more than a minute later, Laurel grunted and started panting again. Suddenly, the infant slipped free. He seemed to glide directly into Alix’s hands. With him came a gush of water and blood.

Tears filled Alix’s eyes. “It’s a boy,” she told Laurel. He didn’t cry right away and Alix’s heart leapt in panic. Acting on instinct, she placed her finger inside his mouth, swabbing it clean. Then she turned him over on his belly and patted his back. Instantly he let out a fierce, belligerent cry. Joy surged through Alix and she stared up at her friend. “He’s beautiful,” she said, awed by the wonder of this moment. A new life had just entered the world.

Laurel refused to look at him and turned her face away. “Cut the cord,” she instructed without emotion.

“I … I don’t think I should …”

“Do it,” Laurel demanded. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

“All right, all right.” Alix found a knife in the kitchen and, afraid she might infect either her friend or the baby, put it in a pan full of water, which she set on the stove to boil. She dashed back into the living room just in time to deliver the afterbirth.

As soon as she’d cut the cord, Alix took the baby into the bathroom and cleaned him off. Then she wrapped him in the blanket she’d knit in class. Certain Laurel would have a change of heart now that the birth was over, Alix carried the newborn into the living room, hoping to coax her roommate into at least glancing at her son.

“Just look at him once,” Alix pleaded. “He’s perfect, Laurel.”

Laurel refused again with a shake of her head. “Get rid of it.”

Alix couldn’t believe anyone could be so coldhearted. “I can’t do that.”

“Then give it to me and I will.”

“Will … what will you do?” Alix protectively cradled the infant.

“I’ll take it to some Dumpster and leave it there.”

Laurel didn’t even seem to consider this infant a child. She referred to him as “it.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” she said in a horrified voice. “You don’t want this baby.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Laurel shouted. “Get rid of that thing.”

With one arm around the newborn, Alix controlled her racing thoughts. If Laurel didn’t want this baby, she knew someone who did. “Sign something.”

“What?” Laurel stared up at her blankly.

“I need a statement from you that says you’re giving up this baby of your own free will.”

Laurel frowned. “Who am I giving this baby to?”

“To a couple for adoption.” Alix took a deep breath. “I know someone who desperately wants and needs a child. I want her and her husband to raise this baby boy. You might not love him, but I know Carol will. I brought him into this world. I feel personally responsible for him now. Like you said, you want me to get rid of him.”

“Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“You aren’t going to change your mind?”

“No.” Then as if to prove her point, she grabbed the knife and raised her arm as if she meant to kill the infant on the spot. “I want it dead or out of my life, understand? What more do I have to say to prove it? Just get rid of it! I don’t care what you do as long as you get it out of here.”

As she held the screaming infant in her arms, Alix grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, then handed them to her friend. “Write it down.”

Sitting up, Laurel quickly scribbled a few lines and signed her name. Alix read them over, then returned to the bedroom. She set the baby on her bed and jerked on clothes as fast as her shaking hands would allow. The infant gazed up at her and Alix bent down and kissed his forehead.

“I wish you’d had a warmer welcome to the world, little boy,” she whispered. “But I know someone who’ll love you.”

Without another word to Laurel, Alix threw her purse over her shoulder and walked out of the apartment. It was early Friday morning and the streets were dark and eerie. Moving as fast as she could with the baby held against her chest, Alix stepped into the foyer of Annie’s Café where there was a pay phone. She searched for fifty cents and then pulled out the piece of paper Jordan had given her with his phone number.

She inserted the coins and pressed the receiver to her ear as she punched in the numbers. “Oh please, be there,” she whispered. “Please.”

Jordan didn’t answer until the fifth ring, just when Alix was about to hang up in frustration and despair.

“This better be good,” he muttered into the phone.

“Jordan, it’s me.” She was so glad to hear his voice she nearly wept for joy. “Remember you said I could phone if I ever needed you?”

“Are you in trouble?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer him. “I’m at Annie’s Café…. Can you come and get me?”

“Now?”

“Yes, and please hurry.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as pause. If ever Alix had doubted her feelings for him, she didn’t anymore. She knew with certainty that there was one person in her life she could turn to anytime, night or day, and that was Jordan.

Alix bounced the baby gently in her arms. She cooed and comforted him as she waited inside the lighted foyer of Annie’s Café for Jordan’s car. When she saw him turn the corner, she pushed through the glass door and walked to the curb.

Jordan eased to a stop and leaned over to throw open the passenger door.

He stared at her. “Is that … a baby?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and shock.

“It’s Laurel’s and that creep John’s…. I just delivered him.”

“So that’s …” He broke off for a moment. “She talked to me not long ago, said she was in some kind of trouble, but wouldn’t tell me what.”

Alix nodded. She understood it all now.

“Do you need me to take the baby to the hospital?” he asked.

“No.” Because her heart was full and because she knew what had to be done, she bent to kiss him.

“Alix … you can’t keep this baby.”

“I delivered him. I’ll be the one to find him a home.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “What are you thinking?”

“I know someone who needs this baby.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter who. Now, either you drive or I’ll catch a cab.”

“But it isn’t legal—”

“I have a signed statement from Laurel. She doesn’t want the baby and there’s no damn way I’m turning him over to the state. Is that clear?”

His eyebrows shot up, and a slow grin followed. “Remind me never to cross you.”

“Don’t worry. I have a feeling you’re going to get plenty of reminders over the years.”

“Years?”

“We’ll discuss that later.”

“Does your friend know you’re coming?”

“Not yet.”

“What about Laurel?”

“I’ll need you to go back and take her to the hospital.” That would mean involving the authorities, but she’d let Carol and her husband deal with it. “Take her to Swedish, okay?”

“I’m at your command, Lady Alix, dragon slayer and deliverer of baby boys.”

That had a nice sound to it, Alix decided.

47
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

The piercing ring of the phone woke Carol out of a deep sleep. Doug rolled over and glanced at the clock, and Carol saw that it was barely past four. She didn’t know anyone who’d be calling this early unless it was an emergency. Her mind went numb with the possibilities.

On the third ring, her husband reached for the receiver. “Hello,” he said groggily.

Carol could hear only one end of the conversation and at first she assumed it was a wrong number. To her surprise, Doug said, “Yes, she’s here. Who did you say this is?”

A moment later he placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Do you know a girl by the name of Alix Townsend?”

Carol nodded. “Did she say what she wants?”

“No. Only that she has to see you right away.”

Carol hesitated.

“Should I buzz her up?” Doug asked.

If Alix had come to her in the middle of the night, there had to be a good reason. “Yes,” she told her husband. “Let her come up.”

“You’re sure?”

“She probably wants to talk,” Carol said.

“At this time of the morning?”

Carol kissed his temple. “Yes, darling.”

Throwing aside the blankets, Carol reached for her robe at the foot of the bed. “You don’t need to get up.” She supposed that Alix had come to her as one friend to another, presumably to ask for advice about some urgent crisis in her life. In her current frame of mind, Carol wasn’t convinced she’d be much help. Then again, maybe she would….

As she walked out of the bedroom, Carol passed the nursery across the hallway. Bon-Macy’s was coming that very morning to pick up the furniture. With the crib, changer and chest of drawers would go her dreams of a family. After everything she’d endured, after the frustration and disappointment and heartache, Carol thought it should’ve been easier to let go. This futile quest for a child was killing their marriage, and Doug was right—this had to end. Still it hurt and the pain would linger.

There was a knock at the door. Barefoot, Carol crossed the tiled entry to unfasten the security lock. She opened the door and gasped when she saw Alix standing there, cradling a baby in her arms.

“Here,” she said, holding the infant out to Carol. “This baby boy needs a mother.”

Carol stared down at the newborn thrust into her arms. Speechless, she raised her eyes to meet Alix’s, unsure what to think. What to say was even more of a puzzle.

“I delivered him,” Alix explained.

“Whose …?” She did manage to get out the one word.

“My roommate told me to get rid of him. She said she planned to throw him in a Dumpster if I didn’t take him. He needs a mother and a father—he needs someone who’ll love him.”

This didn’t seem real, didn’t seem possible. The only thing Carol could think to do was cry out for her husband, but her voice was hardly a croak. Although she thought he couldn’t have heard her, Doug came roaring out of the bedroom, bare-chested, wearing only his pajama bottoms.

“Hi,” Alix said, sounding so unlike herself that Carol glanced at her. “I’m Alix. You let me up.”

“Alix brought us a baby,” Carol said, tears glistening in her eyes.

Doug looked from one to the other. Like her, he didn’t seem to know how to react. But thankfully, he gathered his wits in record time. “I think we’d better all sit down and talk about this.”

“It’s legal,” Alix assured them. “I got Laurel to write everything out on a piece of paper.” She dug into her pocket and passed the folded sheet to Doug. “Laurel needs to go to the hospital and once she does the police will be notified, but I figured you could deal with that. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, isn’t it? And you’ve got the baby now.”

“Maybe we should put on a pot of coffee,” Carol suggested. Her mind was spinning and it was difficult to grasp what was going on. All she knew was that she was standing here holding a newborn baby.

“I’ll start the coffee,” Doug said. Carol nodded gratefully. She looked down at the sleeping infant and her heart contracted painfully. To think that his mother had been willing to toss him in a Dumpster like a piece of garbage! How anyone could even imagine such a thing was beyond her comprehension.

“He doesn’t have any clothes,” Alix said. “I washed him off and wrapped him in the blanket but I didn’t have a diaper.”

“I’ll dress him,” Carol said. This seemed more like a dream than reality. She carried him into the nursery, placing him on the dresser and carefully removing the blanket. With one hand on the infant, she reached down for a disposable diaper.

That very morning, in just a few hours, she was supposed to empty these drawers so the department store could take everything away. Thank God that hadn’t happened yet! She gently cleaned his bottom and secured the diaper. The tiny T-shirt came next. When she’d finished, she bundled him in the thick, soft folds of a flannel receiving blanket.

He made a small mewling sound and she picked up a baby bottle, clean and sterilized, ready for formula. She dared not allow herself to think this was her child, her son. Alix had come to her for help and Carol was the logical person to contact.

“Exactly how old is he?” she asked when she returned to the living room.

Alix glanced at her wrist, but apparently hadn’t remembered to put on her watch. “About an hour.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Jordan. He dropped me off, and now he’s on his way back to the apartment to take Laurel to the hospital.”

With Alix following her, Carol joined Doug in the kitchen, and they waited for the coffee to drip into the pot. “He needs to be fed,” Carol announced as though she were an authority on the subject of newborns. Without asking, she handed the baby to Doug, then found a can of formula in one of the cupboards.

She filled the four-ounce bottle and set it inside the microwave just long enough to warm it. After shaking the formula on her wrist to test the temperature, she picked up the baby. He took immediately to the nipple, nestling in her arms as if … as if she was his mother.

“Okay. Time to talk,” Doug said. He gestured Carol and Alix into the living room and carried in the coffee tray. Carol sat in the recliner, touching the baby’s tiny wisps of hair. She almost burst into tears when the infant wrapped his hand around her little finger. He’s mine, she wanted to cry out. She felt both a profound, soul-deep satisfaction—and greater fear than she’d ever experienced.

“I brought him into the world,” Alix said proudly. “Laurel doesn’t want him and I told her I knew someone who’d love him.” She paused, clearly waiting for Carol to respond.

“This can’t be legal,” Doug said, answering for her, sounding uncertain and confused. “I’ve never heard of anything like this….”

“You have the baby, don’t you?” Alix said. “He’s yours now.”

“I know, but …”

“She signed a paper saying she didn’t want him.” For the first time, Alix looked unsure of what she’d done. “I thought you’d want him.”

“I do,” Carol cried. Doug had concerns and so did she, but this baby filled her arms, filled the emptiness inside her. God help her, she wasn’t letting him go! She refused to give in to the fear that she might lose this child, too. “Doug?” She turned to her husband, her eyes entreating him to do whatever was necessary.

Doug leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.

“Do you want this baby or not?” Carol demanded. “Because I do. I’ll take him, no questions asked. I’ll love him, I’ll raise him, but I need to know that you will, too.”

Her husband met her eyes, and Carol saw his apprehension. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep him, Carol. Like I said, this can’t be legal. A woman can’t just give her baby to complete strangers.”

Carol didn’t care what it cost, what sacrifices were required, she was willing to fight to make this child her own. Just when she’d given up all hope, a miracle had happened. She was going to accept that miracle, whatever it took.

“First thing we do is talk to an attorney.” It was clear that Doug had reached a decision. “As Alix said, with Laurel in the hospital, the police will be notified. We have to make it look like she intended for us to adopt him from the very beginning.”

Carol saw in him a resolve that made her want to weep with joy. “We have a son,” she whispered through her tears.

“Not yet, we don’t,” Doug said, “but we will soon enough.” Taking charge now, he stood. “Give me a few minutes to dress and make a couple of phone calls. Then, Alix, you’re coming with me.”

He disappeared into the bedroom.

Carol put the baby bottle aside and held the infant against her shoulder. “How can I thank you?” she said as she patted his back.

Alix pointed at the tray, which held the coffeepot and three mugs. “I could really use a cup of that coffee. Do you mind if I help myself?”

“Of course … sorry.”

“Do you want one?”

Carol shook her head as Alix poured a mug of coffee and added cream. “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” she murmured. She took a sip of her coffee. “About Laurel,” she said, obviously caught up in her own thoughts. “It just never occurred to me that she could be pregnant.”

Carol’s hand rubbed the infant’s back protectively. With her he would be secure and loved and very much wanted.

“Laurel was overweight before, and then she just seemed to be getting fatter.”

“What about the father?”

“A used-car salesman. He rented XXX-rated videos. I was never keen on him, but he was kind of good-looking, I guess.”

“And Laurel?”

Alix shrugged. “She’s all right, I guess. Just mixed up and angry at the world. I thought that once the baby was born she’d change her mind, but she didn’t.”

Doug appeared then. “To which hospital did your friend take the mother?”

“Swedish,” Alix told him. “Do you still want me to come with you?”

Doug nodded. “I called Larry,” he said, mentioning the name of a good family friend. Larry was an attorney who worked for the insurance company that employed Doug. “He said I should go to the mother and call him from the hospital.”

“What should I do?” Carol wanted to know.

“For now, stay here. Look after the baby. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“All right.” Carol didn’t know how long she’d have the opportunity to nurture and guard this child, but she intended to treasure each moment.

Minutes later, Doug and Alix hurried out the door. Carol moved into the nursery, this room she’d decorated with such anticipation and care. Each item, each piece of furniture, had been an affirmation of hope and joy … and had become a symbol of her pain.

Sinking down in the cushioned rocker, she cradled the sleeping infant and sang him a lullaby. His entry into the world had been abrupt and frightening, but he was safe now. And he’d always be safe if she and Doug could possibly arrange it.

Carol lost all track of time as she cradled the baby, rocking gently back and forth. She might’ve been there an hour, possibly two. It didn’t matter. The happiness that stole over her was complete.

The baby woke, cried huskily and after Carol had changed his diaper, she fed him a second bottle. He returned to sleep and she settled him in the crib, then stood over him, one hand pressed to his tiny back.

Doug came home shortly after eight but without Alix. When he found Carol in the nursery—the first place he looked—he stood beside her, his gaze on the sleeping baby. Then he drew Carol into his arms, and hugged her so close she could hardly breathe.

“What happened?” she asked.

His eyes were bright with unshed tears and his voice trembled. “We have to take him to the hospital and have him checked out, but it looks like we have a son. Laurel was more than agreeable to letting us adopt him. She insisted to the authorities that it’d been her plan all along.”

Tears flooded her eyes as they clung to each other, weeping with happiness. A baby. A miracle of life, a gift that had come from the most unlikely of places at the most unbelievable of times.

She’d known from the first day she’d walked into the yarn store. The fact that they were knitting baby blankets had been a sign from God—and He had kept His promise.

48
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

The Next Year

Jacqueline could hardly contain her excitement as she drove toward Paul and Tammie Lee’s house. She’d been on a cruise with Reese for the last three weeks and was badly in need of what she called a “grandbaby fix.” Little Amelia was almost walking now and Jacqueline considered her granddaughter the cutest, smartest baby in the entire universe. Not that she was biased or anything …

First she’d collect the requisite hugs and kisses from Amelia, and then her next stop would be Lydia’s store. She’d found the loveliest yarn in a tiny shop in one of the Greek islands during their Mediterranean cruise, and she was eager to show it to her.

Tammie Lee was watering the flower beds and Amelia, balanced against her hip, waved her chubby arms at a passing butterfly when Jacqueline pulled into the driveway. The back seat was loaded with gifts she and Reese had purchased on their trip, but none of that was important just now. The sooner she held her granddaughter, the better.

“Amelia, Amelia, Grandma’s home.” Jacqueline slid out of her car and held her arms open to her baby girl.

Amelia squealed with delight and reached for Jacqueline. It didn’t matter that the child was teething and slobber ran freely down her chin and onto her designer bib. All Jacqueline cared about was holding this beautiful baby once again.

“Welcome home,” Tammie Lee said with a wide smile. She bent down to turn off the water and dragged the hose back to the side of the house. “What time did you and Dad get in last night?”

“Late.” Had it been a decent hour, Jacqueline would’ve raced over to kiss Amelia good-night, but Reese had convinced her everyone would be asleep.

“I’m still adjusting to the time change,” she said, hugging her daughter-in-law. The love she felt for Tammie Lee was genuine now. Jacqueline had gradually grown close to her. Tammie Lee’s natural, unforced kindness, her generosity and willingness to assume the best, had transformed Jacqueline’s rigid view of life, and in the process brought the entire family together. Her practical wisdom had opened Jacqueline’s eyes to what she was doing to Reese and to herself. Without Tammie Lee, Jacqueline wondered how long her marriage could possibly have lasted.

“We missed you both something fierce,” Tammie Lee said, taking Amelia from Jacqueline as she led the way into the house. The nine-month-old was on a mission to explore every cupboard and corner she could find.

Tammie Lee headed into the kitchen, where she settled Amelia in her high chair and brought out a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses.

Amelia banged her fists against the tray and gurgled in apparent approval. From the beginning she’d been a happy, cheerful child, just like her mother. Jacqueline walked over to the cookie jar for a graham cracker and broke it into manageable chunks. Amelia immediately grabbed one, gleefully shoving it into her mouth and gumming it with such an expression of delight, it might have been the world’s finest delicacy.

“It’s so good to be home.” Jacqueline sighed as she accepted the glass of tea, complete with a sprig of mint.

“Sit down, and tell me all about exploring the Greek Isles,” Tammie Lee insisted. “I declare, this is the most romantic trip I’ve ever heard of. I just hope Paul and I are as much in love thirty-three years down the road as you and Dad. It sounded just like a honeymoon.”

Her daughter-in-law was closer to the truth than she’d ever know. Jacqueline’s marriage was vastly different since the night she’d confronted Reese about his Tuesday-night-mistress-who-wasn’t. From that moment on, everything had changed for the better. The very next day he’d moved back into the master bedroom with her. Together they explored the delights of married love and gradually, over the next few months, they’d worked on rebuilding what they’d been so ready to destroy.

“I just hope Paul’s as romantic as his father,” Jacqueline murmured, playing with Amelia. “Oh, I swear she’s grown so much these last three weeks.”

Accepting her right to be the center of attention, Amelia Jacqueline Donovan grinned a toothy radiant smile, her cheeks smeared with mushed-up graham cracker.

“You’re such a cutie pie,” Jacqueline cooed. The love she felt for this child was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Amelia and her mother had changed Jacqueline’s life in ways she could never have predicted.

Thirty minutes later, Jacqueline had emptied the back seat of her car. She hugged Tammie Lee goodbye and covered Amelia’s now-clean face with grandma kisses, then reluctantly drove off.

She went to A Good Yarn next. Luck was with her, and she slid into a vacant parking spot directly in front of the store. The Blossom Street renovation project was completed now. The brick apartment building where Alix had once lived had been turned into swanky, updated condominiums; they sold for prices that shocked even Jacqueline. Alix, however, liked her new home better, as well she should, seeing that she was living in the guest house formerly occupied by Martha, who had retired. Who would’ve believed when they first met that Alix would become as close as family?

“Jacqueline,” Lydia cried as the bell chimed above the door. “Welcome back! How was the cruise?”

“Fabulous. Reese and I loved every minute of it.” She opened the shopping bag and pulled out a skein of the Greek yarn, a wool-cashmere blend in a soft shade of mauve with flecks of white. “Look what I found.”

Lydia examined the yarn, weaving it between her fingers, then letting it run through her fingers. She handed it to Margaret. “Feel this,” she said. “It’s incredible.”

“I bought enough to knit a sweater. I didn’t have a clue how much I’d need, so I bought everything they had. You can have whatever I’ve got left over.”

After Margaret had exclaimed over the yarn, Lydia handled it again. “Where did you ever find this?”

“On an island. I can’t remember the name right now. Reese went with me from store to store in my search for yarn. His memory’s better than mine—I’ll ask him.”

“Reese helped you search for yarn?” Lydia shook her head laughingly. “Most husbands would consider that above and beyond the call of duty.”

“We do everything together these days,” Jacqueline confessed and although she would’ve objected had anyone pointed it out, she blushed. This trip with Reese was the second honeymoon every couple should have at least once in their marriage.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you—”

“Happier,” Jacqueline finished for her. She’d heard that over and over again from family and friends. She had no intention of denying it; she was happy.

“Actually, I was going to say you’re looking tanned,” Lydia said with a mischievous smile.

Jacqueline extended both her arms. “Oh, that. Reese had me out on every golf course in the Mediterranean.” She grinned. “I’ve got a wicked slice if I do say so myself, and I’m a formidable putter.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to scoot. I’m meeting Reese at the country club in an hour—we’re having drinks with some old friends. I need to run over to the house first.”

“It’s so good to have you back,” Lydia said, hugging her. “Will you be here on Friday?”

“Of course!” Jacqueline waved away her question as if the answer should be understood. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With that she was off, eager to join her husband—the man she loved.

49
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

“Cameron Douglas Girard, what are you doing?”

Cameron gazed up from the carpet where he sat sorting through his daddy’s sock drawer. The nine-month-old grinned up at her guilelessly as Carol stood with her hands on her hips, trying hard to look stern while struggling not to laugh. “Come here,” she said, lifting her baby boy into her arms. Raising him high, she pressed her mouth against his bare belly and made a loud smooching noise. Cameron let out a squeal of pleasure. When she lowered him, he buried his face in her shoulder, gripping her hair with both hands, gurgling and chattering.

In this past year, Carol had learned about a whole new facet of love—about how much one person could love another and how much a mother could love her child. Cameron might not have come from her womb, but he was her son in every way that counted.

“It’s time for our walk,” she told him.

Cameron knew what that meant and squirmed, wanting her to put him down. She did, quickly returning Doug’s socks to the bottom drawer of their chest of drawers. Then she carried Cam to his room, where she dressed him in tiny jeans and a hand-knit sweater. The pants were a gift from her brother, who’d sent them, plus a matching jacket, shortly after the adoption was completed. Released again, Cameron crawled rapidly toward the stroller. Once he reached it, he pulled himself into a standing position, then looked over his shoulder to be sure she’d noticed his feat and appreciated his skill. Cameron loved their walks.

“We’re visiting the yarn store this afternoon,” Carol told him as she buckled him in. “We’re going to see Miss Lydia.”

Draping her purse over her shoulder, Carol left the condo and pushed the stroller into the hallway and then into the waiting elevator. They took the same route almost every afternoon, stopping at a park two blocks from their building to chat with other young mothers.

Carol’s circle of friends had broadened dramatically since she’d left work and Cameron had come into their lives. The other mothers she’d met at the park had formed a casual group, meeting once a week for coffee. They shared advice and experiences, traded parenting books and magazines, passed on toys and clothing their own children no longer needed. Carol was the oldest member of the group, but that had never bothered her.

After their park visit, Carol steered Cameron into the yarn store. “Carol,” Lydia called out cheerfully. “Hello.” She squatted down so she was eye level with Cameron. “You, too, Cam.”

The baby grabbed for a skein of bright purple yarn but Carol was too quick for him and automatically rolled the stroller backward and away from the tempting yarn.

“I need another ball of that Paton worsted.”

“The olive-green, right?” Lydia had an uncanny ability to remember who’d bought what yarn for which project. Carol had so many projects going now, it was hard to keep track of them all. Lydia, however, had no such difficulty.

“Jacqueline was by earlier this afternoon,” Lydia said.

“She’s back?”

“With a gorgeous tan, too. She looks so happy,” Lydia said with a contented smile.

“That’s great.”

“She’ll be here Friday.”

“What about Alix?” The fourth member of their knitting group wasn’t always available on Fridays. It had been hit-and-miss with her because of culinary school commitments.

Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll be able to make it.”

Carol sighed. “I miss her when she can’t be here.”

“Me, too,” Lydia admitted. “Remember what we thought when she first signed up for the class?”

“I was convinced Jacqueline and Alix would go for each other’s throats within the first five minutes.” Carol laughed. “They were impossible, always sniping at each other.”

“It was like third grade all over again.”

“You’re telling me.” Carol marveled anew at how the relationship between those two had turned out.

“Jacqueline was ready to drop out more than once,” Lydia said, reminiscing.

Carol nodded. “I understood why she wanted to, but I’m so grateful she didn’t.”

“I am, too. And if Alix hadn’t stayed …”

They could never have guessed how one defiant, angry young woman would influence all their lives.

“Do you ever hear from Laurel?” Lydia asked.

“Not a word. Not since the day Cameron was born. She went into court on her own, signed the paperwork and walked out the door without a word to either Doug or me.”

“What about Alix? They used to be roommates.”

“If she’s heard from Laurel, she’s never mentioned it to us.”

“What about Jordan?”

Carol sighed. “I understand he hooked her up with a counselor and got her housing when the apartment building was sold.” The urge to take Cameron in her arms and hold him protectively against her was nearly overwhelming, but Carol resisted. “She was a sad, confused young woman with a lot of problems.”

“But she did one thing right in her life, and that was to give you and Doug her son.”

“I wish her well,” Carol murmured, and she meant it.

At some point, years from now, Cameron might be curious about his birth parents; he might even want to search for them. That decision would be his, but for now, during these formative years, this baby boy was hers and Doug’s. It was their love and their values that would shape him.

Lydia brought the yarn to the counter and rang it up. After Carol had paid for it, she tucked the plastic bag in the basket behind the stroller and headed for the door. “I’ll see you Friday afternoon.”

Lydia gave her a final wave and Carol wheeled the stroller down the sidewalk, past the florist and the café and toward the hill to the waterfront area and the condo.

She’d only been home a few minutes when Doug arrived. He kissed Carol, then reached down for Cameron, lifting him up and hugging him close. Carol was always profoundly moved when she saw her husband with his son. Cameron’s face lit with joy at the sight of his daddy and he squealed and clapped his hands.

The moment was poignant and real. They’d waited so long for this. They’d suffered and sacrificed but none of that seemed important now. They had their son. They had their family. Carol closed her eyes, holding on to this moment, experiencing it as fully as possible.

Doug sat on the floor and played with Cameron and together father and son stacked blocks while Carol looked on, tears moistening her eyes. She knew that in the years to come, everything might not be as perfect as it was today. It didn’t matter. She felt content and happy, and the emptiness that had nearly destroyed her was gone.

She was complete.

50
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Alix put the finishing touches on her crème brûlée and stepped back to give her instructor a chance to grade her work. Mr. Diamont moved forward and studied it with a discerning eye, then tapped the burnt sugar crust. He tasted the creamy custard beneath and nodded approvingly. He turned in her direction. “Nice job, Alix. You may go.”

Alix stared at her teacher, certain that she hadn’t heard him correctly. She didn’t wait long, however, but removed her hat and apron and hurried out of the class. Praise from Diamont was as rare as discretionary cash.

Her budget was tight and would be for the next year of the two-year program. Alix had lived on far less. The lack of money didn’t bother her because she was doing something she loved. Cooking. For years she’d dreamed of attending cooking school, but the tuition costs were as high as a college education. It would’ve continued to be far beyond her means if not for her friends Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.

Alix had met Reese shortly after Carol and Doug adopted Laurel’s baby. Reese had lots of prominent friends; through his connections he was able to steer her toward a scholarship program offered by a local service club. And if that wasn’t enough, Jacqueline had insisted Alix live in their guest house while she attended school. Their housekeeper had recently retired and now Alix had a house-cleaning job that supplied her with enough money to pay for her basic needs.

All of this seemed too good to believe. Every now and then, Alix had to pinch herself to prove this was real. To make sure it was happening to her, Alix Townsend.

Once she’d changed out of her uniform, Alix called Jordan’s cell from the pay phone in the locker room.

“Hi,” she said when he answered.

“Finished for the day?” He seemed to have been waiting for her call.

“Mr. Diamont said I could go.”

“Already? You must’ve done all right.”

“I must have,” she said, biting her lip to keep from bragging. There’d be plenty of time for that when she was out of earshot of the other students.

“I wonder what it would take to bribe you into making crème brûlée for me,” he said playfully. “It is my favorite dessert.”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I’ll bet I could think of something.”

“I’ll bet you could, too. Should I pick you up?”

“If you want.” His days were busy, and it was a lot to ask of him. Normally she wouldn’t phone but she’d been worried about this test and he’d asked her to let him know how she’d done. “I can always take the bus,” she said now.

“I’m on my way.”

She waited outside the Seattle Cooking Academy for about ten minutes before Jordan’s car approached. They’d been dating nearly a year now, and she’d grown accustomed to having him in her life—accustomed to a lot of things. He’d even managed to talk her into attending church on a regular basis. For the first time she felt like a normal person who lived a normal life with people around her who cared and wanted her to succeed. She figured Jordan was right. God hadn’t given up on her.

Jordan parked at the curb, and leaned across the seat to open the passenger door. Alix slid inside and they kissed briefly. Jordan checked his rearview mirror, then merged with the traffic.

“I don’t suppose you remember what today is?” he asked nonchalantly.

Alix wracked her brain but could think of nothing. “Is May sixth supposed to have some significance?”

“It doesn’t to you?” He tossed her a hurt-little-boy look.

“Apparently not.”

Jordan grinned and pretended to be absorbed by the flow of downtown Seattle traffic. “That was the first day you flashed your baby blues at me at the video store.”

“My eyes are brown!”

“Whatever,” he said in the same flippant voice she’d so often used with him. “You honestly don’t remember?

It was May sixth when I saw you standing outside the video store, smoking. I was minding my own business, going in to rent a video, when you interrupted me with some weak excuse.”

“I set aside a video for you.”

“You were making eyes at me.”

“Making eyes at you?” she snorted. “You’re dreaming.” She looked at him with mock scorn, but it pleased her beyond measure that he’d recalled such a minute detail of their relationship.

“So I figure today is something of an anniversary for us.”

“Us, is it?” she asked, loving every second of this banter between them.

“You are my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“And your chef.”

“That, too.”

She shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I guess.”

“In that case, you might want to check out the little box in my glove compartment.”

All at once it felt as if they were flying instead of driving. “A box in the glove compartment for me?”

“Take a look.”

Her hand trembled as she opened the compartment. Sure enough, a small black jeweler’s case with a bright red bow was nestled in among the owner’s manual and the car registration papers. She pulled it out and held it in the palm of her hand.

“What’s inside?” she asked. She couldn’t help it; she sounded breathless.

“Go ahead and see,” Jordan said.

The banter was gone, and the car seemed to grow suddenly warm and airless.

When she didn’t immediately comply, he prodded her. “Well? What’s holding you back? Open the box!”

“It’s a very pretty box.”

“Thank you, but what’s inside is even prettier.”

Alix removed the bow and then with exaggerated care lifted the lid. Inside was a lovely ring with a ruby and two small diamonds, one on either side.

“Jordan.” She said his name on a single lengthy breath. “It’s beautiful.”

“I thought so, too.”

“But … why?”

“Didn’t I just remind you it’s been a year since we linked up?”

“Yes, I know, but …” If he made her cry Alix didn’t think she’d forgive him.

“Try it on.”

She slipped it out and placed it on her finger. The fit was perfect.

“It’s official now,” Jordan said.

“What is?”

“You and me.”

She wanted to tell him she didn’t need a ring—however lovely—to prove that. But she only smiled.

“Next year for our anniversary,” he continued, “after you’ve graduated from cooking school, I’d like to replace that with a diamond engagement ring. What would you think?”

The tears did come then. “I think that’d be just fine,” she whispered. “Now would you stop this car so I can show you how damn much I love you?”

“That,” said Jordan, “can be arranged.”

51
CHAPTER

“To learn to knit you need beginner’s hands and a beginner’s mind. Knitting is a hobby. Breathe, relax and have fun.”

—Donna Druchunas, SheeptoShawl.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

It’s hard to believe that A Good Yarn’s been open for a year. I’ve decided to hold my first—and, I hope, annual—yarn sale. Margaret, who works part-time for me now, created the flyers and the signs. My sister has an artistic bent, although she’s quick to deny it.

This has certainly been an eventful year. My business has prospered and I’ve achieved every goal I set for my first year, plus some. My class list has grown. My original three class members are still with me and we share a deep bond. We’re friends. Our Friday afternoon sessions are an ongoing social event—with knitting. I’m holding other classes, too. My inventory doubled in the last twelve months and continues to grow, although space is becoming a problem. Brad has been wonderful and together with Matt, my brother-in-law, has constructed shelves to hold the newer yarns I’ve made available to my customers.

One morning this week, I was sitting at my desk, dealing with long-overdue paperwork. I glanced into the shop where Margaret was busy tending an early customer; just seeing her made me treasure my business all the more. I’m so grateful I took this giant step in faith. A Good Yarn is everything I dreamed it would be. I hardly think of it as coming to work because it’s such a joy to do what I love and to be able to share my passion for knitting with others.

My father is the one I thank for giving me the courage to move forward with my life. His death taught me such valuable lessons. I suppose the irony is that his death taught me about life. I’d come to depend on him, but in this last year I’ve learned to draw upon the inner strength he instilled in me. I suppose it’s fanciful to think he’s smiling down on me, but I do.

That smile of my father’s would include Margaret. My sister and I have come a long way in repairing our relationship. We’ve grown steadily closer, first as sisters and then as friends. A year ago, if anyone had told me that my sister and I would be working side by side in my yarn store, I would’ve keeled over in a dead faint. Margaret and me—oh, hardly. And yet that’s exactly what we’re doing.

Margaret started filling in for me while I was going through my most recent scare with cancer last year. Dr. Wilson wasn’t giving the cancer a chance to recur, and while the treatment wasn’t as aggressive as the chemotherapy and radiation I’d endured in the past, it was aggressive enough. It was often necessary for me to take a day off, so Margaret, with her limited experience, helped me out. How grateful I am to my sister. She was more familiar with crocheting than knitting when she started, but in recent months, she’s mastered knitting, too. Now she’s as much a part of the store as I am, and the customers have warmed to her. Margaret will never be a spontaneous sort of person, but she’s excellent at sales and I’m proud to have her as an employee. Mom is pleased with our new relationship, too.

Perhaps the biggest change in my life, however, is Brad and Cody. We’re together as much as our schedules will allow, and I’ve fallen deeply in love with this special man and with his son.

“The flyers are back from the printer,” Margaret said, stepping into my tiny office and interrupting my thoughts. “When would you like me to get them to the mailing service?”

I looked up from my desk. “Today if possible.”

She nodded. “I can do that.”

“Thanks.” I wanted her to know how much I appreciated everything she did for me. “I owe you so much, Margaret.”

She shook off my praise, as I knew she would. My gratitude seemed to embarrass her. “Are you sure you’re up to the Mariners game tonight?” At times, although they were increasingly rare, Margaret fell into that protective older-sister mode.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, letting her know I was capable of judging my own limits. In any case, I had no intention of disappointing Brad and Cody. We’d had tickets for this game against the San Diego Padres for weeks.

“Good.”

“What about you, Matt, Mom and the girls? You’ll be there, too, won’t you?”

“Of course!” Margaret’s eyes widened. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“As long as you’re up to it,” I teased.

She ignored that and craned her neck to look out the front windows. “Our favorite UPS delivery man just pulled up.”

Five minutes later, Brad entered the shop, whistling as he rolled in the stack of boxes, filled with my latest shipment of yarn.

“Mornin’, Margaret,” he said as he handed her the clipboard.

My sister signed her name and Brad came to the back to see me.

“Hey, beautiful.”

I always blush when Brad talks to me like that. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his love. I’m the luckiest woman alive. Brad and I have talked about marriage, but I’m the one dragging my feet. I had to be sure first—not about loving him, because I do. No, I had to be sure about the cancer. I’m safe for now, and the future’s like a blank page waiting for a story to be written on it. Or a ball of yarn waiting to be knit …

I love Brad and Cody. I’ve worked hard to establish a good relationship with Brad’s son. His mother and I have talked a number of times; she loves her son, but she’s concentrating on her own needs just now. The funny part is, she seems grateful to me for stepping in.

Still, life doesn’t hold any guarantees. Brad and I have talked about this often, and I’m ready to accept his proposal. I know that’s what I want.

Brad tucked his arms around my waist. “You’re looking mighty kissable this morning.”

I smiled and kissed him, letting my mouth linger on his. I didn’t often let our kisses get this involved, especially during business hours. Yet there are moments when it’s easy to forget where we are.

“To what do I owe this?” he asked in a husky whisper close to my ear.

“It’s just because I love you,” I told him.

“I love you, too.”

I gave his backside a friendly pat. “See you tonight—and don’t forget, you’re buying the hot dogs and peanuts.”

“You got it, sweetheart.”

He left the shop and I stood next to Margaret as I watched him walk away. “He’s one of the good guys,” my sister said.

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you going to marry him?”

I eyed Margaret, wondering what she’d say when she learned I’d made my decision. “Yes.”

She gave me a wide smile. “It’s about time.”

“Yup, I figure it is. I love him. And you know what the real bonus is? Brad and I can laugh together.”

My sister was still grinning. “Life sure has a way of keeping you in stitches.”

I don’t think she meant the pun, but I couldn’t help agreeing.

A Good Yarn

To Mary Colucci, Executive Director Warm Up America! Foundation

and

David Blumenthal, President

Warm Up America! Foundation

Thank you both

for bettering

the lives of so many

1
CHAPTER

“Making a sock by hand creates a connection to history; we are offered a glimpse into the lives of knitters who made socks using the same skills and techniques we continue to use today.”

—Nancy Bush, author of Folk Socks (1994), Folk Knitting in Estonia (1999) and Knitting on the Road, Socks for the Traveling Knitter (2001), all published by Interweave Press.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Knitting saved my life. It saw me through two lengthy bouts of cancer, a particularly terrifying kind that formed tumors inside my brain and tormented me with indescribable headaches. I experienced pain I could never have imagined before. Cancer destroyed my teen years and my twenties, but I was determined to survive.

I’d just turned sixteen the first time I was diagnosed, and I learned to knit while undergoing chemotherapy. A woman with breast cancer, who had the chemo chair next to mine, used to knit and she’s the one who taught me. The chemo was dreadful—not quite as bad as the headaches, but close. Because of knitting, I was able to endure those endless hours of weakness and severe nausea. With two needles and a skein of yarn, I felt I could face whatever I had to. My hair fell out in clumps, but I could weave yarn around a needle and create a stitch; I could follow a pattern and finish a project. I couldn’t hold down more than a few bites at a time, but I could knit. I clung to that small sense of accomplishment, treasured it.

Knitting was my salvation—knitting and my father. He lent me the emotional strength to make it through the last bout. I survived but, sadly, Dad didn’t. Ironic, isn’t it? I lived, but my cancer killed my father.

The death certificate states that he died of a massive heart attack, but I believe otherwise. When the cancer returned, it devastated him even more than me. Mom has never been able to deal with sickness, so the brunt of my care fell to my father. It was Dad who got me through chemotherapy, Dad who argued with the doctors and fought for the very best medical care—Dad who lent me the will to live. Consumed by my own desperate struggle for life, I didn’t realize how dear a price my father paid for my recovery. By the time I was officially in remission, Dad’s heart simply gave out on him.

After he died, I knew I had to make a choice about what I should do with the rest of my life. I wanted to honor my father in whatever I chose, and that meant I was prepared to take risks. I, Lydia Anne Hoffman, resolved to leave my mark on the world. In retrospect, that sounds rather melodramatic, but a year ago it was exactly how I felt. What, you might ask, did I do that was so life-changing and profound?

I opened a yarn store on Blossom Street in Seattle. That probably won’t seem earth-shattering to anyone else, but for me, it was a leap of faith equal to Noah’s building the ark without a rain cloud in sight. I had an inheritance from my grandparents and gambled every cent on starting my own business. Me, who’s never held down a job for more than a few weeks. Me, who knew next to nothing about finances, profit-and-loss statements or business plans. I sank every dime I had into what I did know, and that was yarn and knitters.

Naturally, I ran into a few problems. At the time, Blossom Street was undergoing a major renovation—in fact, the architect’s wife, Jacqueline Donovan, was one of the women in my first knitting class. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, my original students, remain three of my closest friends to this day. Last summer, when I opened A Good Yarn, the street was closed to traffic. Anyone who managed to find her way to my store then had to put up with constant dust and noise. I refused to let the mess and inconvenience hamper my enthusiasm, and fortunately that was how my clientele felt, too. I was convinced I could make this work.

I didn’t get the support you might expect from my family. Mom, bless her, tried to be encouraging, but she was in shock after losing Dad. She still is. Most days, she wanders hopelessly around in a fog of grief and loss. When I mentioned my plan, she didn’t discourage me, but she didn’t cheer me on, either. To the best of my memory, she said, “Sure, honey, go ahead, if you think you should.” From my mother, this was as rousing an endorsement as I could hope to receive.

My older sister, Margaret, on the other hand, had no qualms about drowning me in tales of doom and gloom. The day I opened my store, she marched in with a spate of dire forecasts. The economy was down, she told me; people were hanging on to their money. I’d be lucky to stay afloat for six weeks. Ten minutes of listening to her ominous predictions, and I was ready to rip up the lease and close my door—until I reminded myself that this was my first official day on the job and I had yet to sell a single skein of yarn.

As you might’ve guessed, Margaret and I have a complicated relationship. Don’t get me wrong; I love my sister. Until the cancer struck, we were like any other sisters with the normal ups and downs in our relationship. After I was initially diagnosed with brain cancer, she was wonderful. I remember she brought me a stuffed teddy bear to take to the hospital with me. I still have it somewhere if Whiskers hasn’t gotten hold of it. Whiskers is my cat and he tends to shred anything with a fuzzy surface.

It was when I went through the second bout of cancer that Margaret’s attitude changed noticeably. She acted as if I wanted to be sick, as if I was so hungry for attention that I’d brought this horror on myself. When I took my first struggling steps toward independence, I’d hoped she’d support my efforts. Instead, all I got was discouragement. But over time, that changed and eventually all my hard work won her over.

Margaret, to put it mildly, isn’t the warm, spontaneous type. I didn’t understand how much she cared about me until I had a third cancer scare just a few months after I opened A Good Yarn. Scare doesn’t come close to describing my feelings when Dr. Wilson ordered those frightening, familiar tests. It was as if my entire world had come to a sudden halt. The truth is, I don’t think I could’ve endured the struggle yet again. I’d already decided that if the cancer had returned, I would refuse treatment. I didn’t want to die, but once you’ve lived with the threat of death, it loses its potency.

My come-what-may attitude disturbed Margaret, who wouldn’t accept my fatalism. Talk of death unsettled her, the way it does most people, but when you’ve been around death and dying as much as I have, it seems as natural as turning off the lights. I don’t look forward to dying, but I’m not afraid of it either. Thankfully, the tests came back negative and I’m thriving, right along with my yarn store. I mention it now because it was during those weeks that I discovered how deeply my sister loves me. In the last seventeen years, I’ve only seen her cry twice—when Dad died and when Dr. Wilson gave me a clean bill of health.

Once I returned to work full-time, Margaret bullied and cajoled me into contacting Brad Goetz again. Brad, who drives the UPS truck that makes deliveries to A Good Yarn, is the man I’d started seeing last year. He’s divorced and has custody of his eight-year-old son, Cody. It would be an understatement to say Brad is good-looking; the fact is, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. The first day he came into the store, wheeling several cartons of yarn, it was all I could do to keep the drool from dripping down my chin. I got so flustered I could hardly sign for the delivery. He asked me out three times before I finally agreed to meet him for drinks. Given my experience with male-female relationships, I was sure I’d be completely out of my element dating Brad. I would never have found the courage to say yes if not for Margaret, who harassed me into it.

I always say that A Good Yarn is my affirmation of life, but according to my sister I was afraid of life. Afraid to really live, to venture outside the tiny comfortable world I’d created inside my yarn store. She was right and I knew it, but still I resisted. It’d been so many years since I’d spent any amount of time with a man other than my father or my physician that I had the social finesse of a dandelion. But Margaret wouldn’t listen to a single excuse, and soon Brad and I were having drinks together, followed by dinners, picnics with Cody and ball games. I’ve come to love Brad’s son as much as I do my two nieces, Julia and Hailey.

These days Brad and I see quite a bit of each other. During my cancer scare, I’d pushed him away, which was a mistake as Margaret frequently pointed out. Brad forgave me, though, and we resumed out relationship. We’re cautious—okay, I’m the one who’s taking things slow, but Brad’s fine with that. He was burned once when his ex-wife walked out, claiming she needed to “find herself.” There’s Cody to consider, too. The boy has a close relationship with Brad, and while Cody loves me too, I don’t want to disrupt that special bond between father and son. So far, everything is going well, and we’re talking more and more about a future together. Brad and Cody are so much a part of my life now that I couldn’t imagine being without them.

Although it took her a while, Margaret is finally in favor of my yarn store. After a shaky start, my sister is a believer. She’s actually working with me now. That’s right, the two of us side by side, and that’s nothing short of a miracle. Occasionally we regress, but we’re making strides. I’m so glad she’s with me, in every sense of the word.

Before I get too carried away, I want to tell you about my shop. The minute I laid eyes on this place I saw its potential. Despite the construction mess, the temporary drawbacks and shifting neighborhood, I realized it was perfect. I was ready to sign the lease before I’d even walked inside. I loved the large display windows, which look out onto the street. Whiskers sleeps there most days, curled up among the skeins and balls of yarn. The flower boxes immediately reminded me of my father’s first bicycle shop, and it was almost as if my dad was giving my venture his nod of approval. The colorful but dusty striped awning sealed the deal in my mind. I knew this old-fashioned little shop could become the welcoming place I’d envisioned—and it has.

The renovation on Blossom Street is almost complete. The bank building has been transformed into ultraexpensive condos and the video store next to it is now a French-style café, cleverly called The French Café. Alix Townsend, who took my very first beginners’ knitting class, worked at the old video store, and it’s somehow fitting that her first real job as a pastry chef is in exactly the same location. Unfortunately, Annie’s Café down the street is closed and vacant, but the space won’t be empty for long. This is a thriving neighborhood.

The bell above my door chimed as Margaret stepped inside. It was the first Tuesday morning in June, and a lovely day. Summer would be arriving any time now in the Pacific Northwest.

“Good morning,” I greeted her, turning from the small coffeemaker I keep in the back room that’s officially my office.

She didn’t answer me right away and when she did it was more of a grumble than an actual response. Knowing my sister and her moods, I decided to bide my time. If she’d had an argument with one of her daughters or with her husband, she’d tell me eventually.

“I’ve got a pot of coffee on,” I announced as Margaret walked into the back room and locked up her purse.

Without commenting, my sister pulled a freshly washed cup from the tray and reached for the pot. The drip continued, sizzling against the hot plate, but she didn’t appear to notice.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and my resolve to give her a chance to get over her bad mood disappeared. “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded. I have to admit I felt impatient; lately, she’s brought her surly moods to work a little too often.

Facing me, Margaret managed a tentative smile. “Nothing … sorry. It’s just that this feels a whole lot like a Monday.”

Because the shop is closed on Mondays, Tuesday is our first workday of the week. I frowned at her, trying to figure out what the real problem was. But she’d assumed a perfectly blank expression, telling me nothing.

My sister is a striking woman with wide shoulders and thick, dark hair. She’s tall and lean, but solid. She still looks like the athlete she used to be. I wish she’d do something different with her hair, though. She wears the same style she did in high school, parted in the middle and stick-straight until it hits her shoulders, where it obediently turns under, as if she’s tortured it with a curling iron. That was certainly part of her teenage regimen—the curling iron, the hair spray, the vigorously wielded brush. The style’s classic and it suits her, I suppose, but I’d give anything to see her try something new.

“I’m going to post a new class,” I said, changing the subject abruptly, hoping to draw her out of her dour mood.

“In what?”

Ah, interest. That was a good sign. For the most part, all the classes I’d held had gone well. I’d taught a beginners’ class, an intermediate and a Fair Isle, but there was one I’d been thinking of offering for a while.

“It’s such a difficult question?”

My sister’s sarcasm shook me from my brief reverie. “Socks,” I told her. “I’m going to offer a class on knitting socks.”

With the inventive new sock yarns on the market, socks were the current knitting rage. I carried a number of the European brands and loved the variety. My customers did, too. Some of the new yarns were designed to create an intricate pattern when knitted. I found it amazing to view a finished pair of socks, knowing the design had been formed by the yarn itself and not the knitter.

“Fine.” Margaret’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “I suppose you’re going to suggest knitting them on circular needles versus the double-pointed method,” she said casually.

“Of course.” I preferred using two circular needles.

Margaret would rather crochet and while she can knit, she doesn’t often. “There seems to be a lot of interest in socks lately, doesn’t there?” Her tone was still casual, almost indifferent.

I regarded my sister closely. She always had a list of three or four reasons any idea of mine wouldn’t work. It had become practically a game with us. I’d make some suggestion and she’d instantly tell me why it was bound to fail. I missed having the opportunity to state my case.

“So you think a sock class would appeal to our customers?” I couldn’t help asking. Good grief, there had to be something drastically wrong with Margaret.

Personally, I was fond of knitting socks for reasons beyond the current popularity. The biggest attraction for me was the fact that a pair of socks was a small project. After finishing an afghan or a Fair Isle sweater, I usually wanted a project I knew I could complete quickly. After knitting for endless hours, I found it gratifying to watch a sock take shape almost immediately. Socks didn’t require a major commitment of either time or yarn and made wonderful gifts. Yes, socks were definitely my choice for this new class. Because Tuesday seemed to be my slowest business day, it made sense to hold the sessions then.

Margaret nodded in answer to my question. “I think a sock class would definitely attract knitters,” she murmured.

I stared at my sister and, for an instant, thought I saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. I stared harder. As I mentioned earlier, Margaret rarely cries. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked, just in case, keeping my voice gentle. I didn’t want to pry, but if something really was wrong, she needed to know I was concerned about her.

“Stop asking me that,” she snapped.

I sighed with relief. The old Margaret was back.

“Would you make a sign for the window?” I asked. Margaret had much more artistic ability than I did. I’d come to rely on her for the window notices and displays.

With no real show of enthusiasm, she shrugged again. “I’ll have one up before noon.”

“Great.” I walked over to the front door, unlocked it and flipped the Closed sign to Open. Whiskers glanced up from his perch in the front window, where he lazed in the morning sun. Red Martha Washington geraniums bloomed in the window box. The soil looked parched, so I filled the watering can and carried it outside. From the corner of my eye I saw a flash of brown as a truck turned the corner. A familiar happiness stole over me. Brad.

Sure enough, he angled the big truck into the parking spot in front of Fanny’s Floral, the shop next to mine. He hopped out, all the while smiling at me.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” I said, reveling in his smile. This man smiles with his whole heart, his whole being, and he has the most intense blue eyes. They’re like a beacon to me. I swear I can see those eyes a mile away, they’re that blue. “Have you got a yarn delivery?” I asked.

“I’m the only delivery I have for you today, but I’ve got a couple of minutes if there’s coffee on.”

“There is.” It was our ritual. Brad stopped at the shop twice a week, with or without a load of yarn—more often if he could manage it. He never stayed long. He filled his travel coffee mug, took the opportunity to steal a kiss and then returned to his deliveries. As always, I followed him into the back room, pretending to be surprised when he eased me into his embrace. I love Brad’s kisses. This time he started with my forehead, then gradually worked his way down my face until he reached my lips. As his mouth moved over mine, I could feel the electricity through every inch of my body. He has that kind of effect on me—and he’s well aware of it.

He held me just long enough to let me regain my equilibrium. Then he released me and picked up the coffeepot. He was frowning when he turned around.

“Is there a problem between Margaret and Matt?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to assure him everything was fine, but before I could utter a word I stopped myself. All at once I realized I didn’t know. “What makes you ask?”

“Your sister,” he said in hushed tones. “She isn’t herself lately. Haven’t you noticed?”

I nodded. “Something’s definitely up with her,” I agreed, remembering how she’d declined the opportunity to wage verbal battle with me.

“Do you want me to ask her?” Brad inquired, forgetting to whisper.

I paused, afraid Margaret would take offense and snap at Brad the same way she had at me. “Probably not.” But then I changed my mind. My sister was half in love with Brad herself. If anyone could make it past that protective barrier of hers, he’d be the one. “Maybe, but not now.”

“When?”

“Perhaps we should all get together soon.”

Brad shook his head. “It’d be better if Matt wasn’t around.”

“Right.” I nibbled on my lower lip. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Before he could answer, Margaret tore aside the curtain to the back room and glared at us. Brad and I started, no doubt looking as guilty as we felt.

“Listen, you two lovebirds, if you’re going to talk about me I suggest you lower your voices.” With that, she dropped the curtain and stomped into the store.

2
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Retirement was everything Elise Beaumont had hoped it would be, and everything she’d feared. On the positive side, the alarm portion of her clock-radio had been permanently shut off. She woke when her body told her she no longer needed sleep, ate when she felt hungry and not when the school library set her break.

Then there were the negatives. For years she’d scrimped and saved, wanting to build her own home on her own small piece of land. After months of searching, months of visiting housing developments, she found the area and the development she’d always dreamed of. It was on the outskirts of the city, and if it didn’t have an ocean view, it was still beautiful, overlooking a grove of conifers. She could imagine having coffee on her small patio, watching deer emerge from the trees in the early morning. She raided her investment account and put down a large chunk of cash. She’d assumed the developer was a reputable one; to put it bluntly, he wasn’t. She, along with a handful of others, had been cheated and misled. Then the company declared bankruptcy within a month, and as a result she had no home, no savings and mounting legal bills. It was a nightmarish situation that continued to get worse.

As she lay in bed, she recalled that for years she’d wanted to travel beyond the Puget Sound area, where she’d been born and raised. Well, she couldn’t afford that now. But for the first time in her adult life she felt the urge to follow her creative bent. She planned to knit again and take an oil painting class. Having spent most of her career around books, she’d toyed with the idea of writing a novel. Maybe a children’s story … She was open to trying just about anything—once the class-action suit against the builder was settled. Until then, she could only obsess about her lack of funds and the legal battle before her.

Her life was on hold until she was free of this mess. It was all a waiting game now as the attorneys filed the paperwork and the lawsuit worked its way through the court system. At best, it would be a year before she and the others saw even a fraction of their money. If they did, and that was a big if. All she could do was hope and pray that all wasn’t lost.

The problems with the builder were only the start of her difficulties. Certain her house would be completed on time, she’d let go of the lease on her apartment. That had been an early mistake. The vacancy rate in Seattle was low and not only would it be difficult to find a new place, she was terrified of using the better part of her pension on an overpriced apartment. At her daughter’s suggestion, Elise had moved in with her. Just for a little while, she’d promised herself. Except that it had already been six months….

No—Elise refused to spend another second thinking about this financial disaster. It only depressed her. In her eagerness to have her own home, she’d lost practically everything. At least she had her health, her daughter and grandchildren, her sanity.

“Grandma, Grandma,” six-year-old John cried as he pounded urgently at her bedroom door. “Are you awake? I want to come in, okay?”

Elise slid out of bed and opened her bedroom door. Her freckle-faced grandson smiled crookedly up at her. His crop of carrot-colored hair stood nearly straight up, just the way Maverick’s once had. Her youngest grandson’s hair color often brought her ex-husband to mind. Elise hadn’t seen him for more than brief periods over the past thirty years. How she’d ever managed to meet, let alone marry, a professional gambler was something she couldn’t explain even now. He’d been her one wild, impulsive fling.

But … how she’d loved him. Elise had been head over heels for that man. They were married within weeks of their first meeting—which had happened in a grocery store, of all places. Before long, Aurora was born, but the problems had already started. At the time, Marvin “Maverick” Beaumont was working for an insurance firm, but he had an addiction to cards and gambling, and it’d nearly destroyed them both. In the end, Elise felt she had no option but to leave him. Whenever she’d threatened divorce, he’d begged her to reconsider, begged her to give him another chance, but it was the same pattern over and over until Elise finally realized she had to get him out of her life. It still hurt. She’d never loved another man with the same intensity as she had Maverick. She’d tried, but no one else had made her feel the way he had.

She’d made a genuine effort to socialize, with the hope of marrying again. The closest she came was when Aurora turned fifteen, but Elise discovered that Jules, a symphony musician she’d been dating, had a wife and two daughters living in San Francisco. Devastated, she’d avoided relationships ever since. There was something to be said for a simple life.

Looking perturbed, Elise’s daughter rounded the hallway corner. “John, I told you to leave your grandmother alone,” Aurora chastised. She reached for his arm and dragged him away from Elise’s door. “I’m sorry, Mom. I told the boys to let you sleep in this morning,” she added, casting Elise an apologetic glance.

“It’s all right, I was awake.” Living with her daughter, a stay-at-home mom, and her family might not have been part of Elise’s retirement plans, but for the moment this arrangement suited them both. Her furniture was in storage and her life on hold, but she had a roof over her head.

While Elise waited for the lawsuit to get settled, she paid Aurora and David rent. The amount was small at their insistence, but it was still a boon to the tight family budget. Elise also helped her daughter with the children. David, Elise’s son-in-law, was a computer specialist who set up software systems for companies across North America and was often away for a week or two at a time. Elise and Aurora, always close, were company for each other, and Elise appreciated her daughter’s encouragement and support.

“Can you take us to the park this afternoon?” John pleaded.

“Perhaps,” Elise said, hating to refuse him anything. “I have a few errands to run this morning and I don’t know how long they’ll take.”

“Can I come?” John was such a dear boy, anxious to go and see and do. He’d raced into the world a full month early and had yet to stop.

“No, sweetie, you’ve got kindergarten this morning.”

His face fell instantly but he accepted her refusal with a good-natured shrug and quickly disappeared down the hallway to join his older brother.

“I thought I’d go down Blossom Street and check out that yarn store,” Elise informed her daughter.

She could tell Aurora was pleased about her renewed interest in knitting. After a recent visit to her attorney’s office, Elise had walked down the renovated street and noticed the yarn store, which she’d mentioned to Aurora.

Elise was pleasantly surprised by the changes on Blossom Street. For years the area had been an eyesore, with its seedy-looking establishments. The renovations weren’t what she’d expected. Instead of tearing down the older buildings, the architect had refurbished what was already there and renewed a deteriorating neighborhood. The shops were appealing with awnings and flowers and sidewalk displays. The impression she’d been left with was of a warmly traditional neighborhood, a lovely little world unto itself. It was hard to believe that just a few blocks over, high-rises stretched toward the sky. Just down the hill were the huge financial enterprises, insurance complexes and other major businesses that made up downtown Seattle.

While looking in the window of A Good Yarn, Elise had noticed a sign that advertised knitting classes. She might not be able to enjoy her retirement the way she’d hoped, but she wasn’t going to become a recluse afraid to spend a dime, either. Besides, knitting might keep her mind off her financial difficulties.

After a cup of tea in her room, Elise dressed for the day. She’d maintained her slim figure and chose a peach-colored pantsuit that was both stylish and comfortable. Although it was early June and sunny, the weather remained cool and she would need the matching jacket once she got outside. She pinned a small pink cameo over the top closure of her white blouse. It was the nicest piece of jewelry she owned. Maverick had given it to her before they were even married and she loved it and wore it often.

To his credit, Maverick had stayed in touch with their daughter, although not as regularly as Elise felt he should. For her own part, she wanted nothing to do with him, but she didn’t begrudge Aurora the opportunity to know her father; she never had. She considered their relationship entirely separate from her. She paused, frowning. Twice that morning she’d thought about Maverick. It wasn’t as though she ever really forgot him—how could she with her grandson so physically similar—but she rarely indulged her memories of him. She didn’t want to think about him or remember the days and nights of love.

After running a brush through her shoulder-length brown hair, she tied it back at the nape of her neck. Untouched by gray, it was her one vanity. Her hand froze as yet another memory wrapped itself around her heart. Maverick had loved her hair down. She’d worn it in a tidy bun at the library but at the end of the day, the first thing he did was reach for the pins to loosen her thick tresses. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” he’d whisper and she’d smile…. Irritated, she tightened her lips and cast the thought from her mind.

Aurora was pouring milk into bowls of cereal when Elise walked into the kitchen.

“You look nice, Mom,” she commented.

Compliments embarrassed Elise and she dismissed her daughter’s words with a shake of her head.

“Have a good day at school,” Elise told the boys as she opened the front door.

They watched her leave, their faces glum, as if she’d abandoned them to some malicious fate. Her grandsons were her joy but she hardly knew how Aurora managed. She marveled at her daughter’s skill as a wife and mother.

Elise sometimes feared she’d failed on both counts. She was never meant to be a wife, and her two years of married life had proved as much. Aurora was the one treasure she’d managed to salvage from that shipwreck of a marriage. Her daughter, as tall as her father at six feet, was a blessing beyond compare. In more ways than Elise cared to admit, they’d grown up together. Thankfully they’d stayed close.

Maverick had faithfully paid his child support each month, and when the spirit moved him, he’d phoned Aurora from wherever he was currently living, which seemed to be in a different part of the country each time. Soon after their wedding, he’d given up any pretense of an ordinary job—although he’d been quite successful at insurance sales—and devoted his energy to gambling. Roots were a detriment to a professional gambler. And if settling down wasn’t conducive to a gambler’s life, a family was even less so. While Elise was in labor, her loving husband had started up a poker game in the waiting room and completely missed the birth of his only child.

Catching the #47 bus, Elise rode it down Pill Hill toward Blossom Street, getting off three stops before the Seattle Public Library, which had recently undergone a huge renovation. Through her work at the school library, Elise had met some of Washington’s most influential librarians. They included Nancy Pearl, who’d organized the “If All Seattle Reads the Same Book” program. Cities, large and small, across the United States had followed Seattle’s lead. Elise was delighted that this idea had become so popular. It demonstrated that the library remained an important part of the community.

Stepping off the bus, she clutched her purse close to her side. The area had once been known for its pickpockets and muggers. That didn’t seem to be the case now, but one could never be too careful.

She walked past Fanny’s Floral and stopped to admire a display of purple carnations. She’d never seen carnations in quite that color before and was tempted to bring home a bouquet for Aurora. She probably shouldn’t waste money on flowers, but still … Well, she’d think about it.

A snoozing tabby cat was curled up in the display window of the yarn store. Elise opened the door and a small bell rang. Apparently accustomed to the sound, the cat didn’t stir.

“Good morning,” a pleasant-faced woman greeted her. Another, older woman stood by the counter and nodded in Elise’s direction.

“Yes, it is,” she said, instantly warmed by the younger woman’s friendliness. This was an attractive shop, well-designed and not overcrowded with yarn. Elise liked that she could see over the top of each display case. “I’ve come to inquire about classes,” she said, distracted by the colors and textures all around her. There were projects displayed on top of the cases, cleverly arranged on wire frames. Her eye was drawn to a sweater with a dinosaur knit into the front. Both Luke and John would love that. Perhaps one day she’d make it for her grandsons.

“We’re enrolling for a sock class this week.”

“Socks,” Elise repeated, unsure this was a project that interested her. “I’ve knit with five needles before, but it’s been a long time.”

“These are knitted up on two circular needles,” the woman told her. “Here, let me show you what I mean.” She led Elise toward the middle aisle, where a row of plastic feet displayed knitted socks. The patterns were intricate—far more complicated than Elise cared to tackle. It’d been years since she’d picked up knitting needles and she wasn’t eager to sabotage her efforts with a project beyond her capabilities.

She was about to say as much when the woman explained that the designs were part of the yarn itself.

“You mean I don’t have to do anything but knit?”

“That’s correct. The yarn is self-patterning.” She went on to list the price of the class, the day and the cost, which included all the supplies she would need. “By the way, I’m Lydia Hoffman and that’s my sister, Margaret. She works with me.”

“Elise Beaumont,” she said and smiled at both women. On closer inspection it became more obvious that they were related. The older one, Margaret, was large-boned but the other, Lydia, was petite with delicate features. Yet their faces were similar in shape, with pronounced cheekbones and large dark eyes. When she realized she was staring, she added, “I recently retired and thought I’d take up knitting again.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

Elise smiled at Lydia’s enthusiasm. Margaret’s attention had returned to whatever she was doing at the counter, which apparently involved catalogues and order forms.

“A class seems like a good place to start,” Elise said.

Lydia nodded. “I’m so glad you decided to stop by.” She continued toward the back of the shop, where a table and chairs were set up. “If you’re free on Friday afternoons, I’d like to invite you to our charity knitting sessions, too.”

“Another class?” Elise could only afford one.

“Not exactly. There’s no cost. A number of my regulars come here to knit for different charitable projects and organizations. You’d be most welcome, Elise.” She talked about Warm Up America, the Linus Project and ChemoCaps for people undergoing chemotherapy.

“Do you supply the yarn?” Elise asked, conscious once again of her limited budget.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Lydia said. “Or at least some of it. Patrons have donated leftover yarn for the Warm Up America blankets, and anyone who purchases yarn for one of the other projects can buy it at a discount.”

“Perhaps I’ll do that.” Elise’s schedule was nearly empty and she was looking for ways to fill it. So far, she’d joined a readers’ group that met once a month at a branch of the Seattle Public Library, and had volunteered to fold church newsletters. A strong supporter of the local blood bank, she’d also volunteered to handle the desk every Monday morning until noon.

“Would you like to sign up for the sock class?” Lydia pressed. “I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Again Elise’s spirits lifted at the other woman’s friendliness. “Yes, I think I would.” She opened her purse and removed her checkbook. “How many will be in the class?” she asked as she signed the check.

“I’d like to limit it to six.”

“Has there been a lot of interest?”

“Not yet, but I only put the ad in the window Tuesday morning. You’re the first person to join.”

“The first,” Elise repeated, and for reasons she could only guess at, being first gave her a sense of pleasure.

She decided to buy those flowers for Aurora, after all.

3
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Bethanne Hamlin lamented as she pulled into the driveway of her Capitol Hill home. The house, built in the 1930s before it was deemed unsafe and unfeasible to use brick on top of an earthquake fault, had been her dream home. She’d fallen in love with it the moment she saw it. The short steep driveway ended at the basement garage. Concrete steps led to a small porch, and the front door was rounded, like the door to a fairy-tale cottage, she’d always thought. A gable jutted out from the second-floor master bedroom. The window seat there overlooked the entire neighborhood. Bethanne had often sat in that window and read or daydreamed. It was in this beautiful home that she’d once lived her perfect life. Her fairy-tale life …

She turned off the engine and sat in her five-year-old Plymouth, searching for the resolve and the strength to enter her house with a smile on her face. Taking a deep breath, she slid out of the car, reaching into the backseat for her groceries.

“I’m home,” she called out as she opened the front door, doing her best to sound cheerful.

She felt relief when silence greeted her.

“Andrew? Annie?” She placed the grocery bag on the kitchen countertop, filled the teakettle and set it on the burner. Before the divorce she’d never been much of a tea drinker, but in the last year she’d become practically addicted, drinking two or three pots a day.

“I’m home,” she announced a second time. Again, no response.

After a few minutes, the kettle began to whistle, and she poured the steaming water over Earl Grey tea bags in the ceramic pot that had once belonged to her grandmother. Then she carried it to the breakfast table.

Sitting in the small alcove, she tried to make sense of her life. Tried to make sense of everything that had happened to her and her children over the past two years. Nothing felt right anymore. It was as if the seasons no longer followed each other in proper succession. Or as if the moon had suddenly replaced the sun … She still had trouble understanding what had happened—and why.

It’d all started sixteen months earlier on the morning of Valentine’s Day. The kids were awake and banging around inside their bedrooms, getting ready for school. A little earlier, when she could hear Andrew and Annie squabbling over the bathroom, she’d thrown on her housecoat and started down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Then, as she reached the door, she’d noticed her husband sitting up in bed, knees bent, face in his hands. Bethanne’s first thought was that Grant had the flu. Any other morning, he was already up and dressed for work. He loved his job as a broker for a successful real estate company. He earned enough so that Bethanne could stay home with the children; from the time Andrew was born, and Annie thirteen months later, she’d felt the children should be her career. Grant had supported her decision. He liked having her home, accessible to him and the children, and appreciated the elegant business dinners she frequently prepared for him and his colleagues.

“Grant?” she’d asked, completely unsuspecting of what was to follow.

He’d looked up and Bethanne had read such pain in his eyes that she sat down on the bed and placed her hand on his shoulder. “What is it?” she’d asked gently.

Grant couldn’t seem to speak. He opened his mouth as if to begin, but no words came.

“Mom!” Annie shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “I need you.”

Torn between her husband’s needs and those of her children, Bethanne vacillated, then squeezed Grant’s arm. “I’ll be right back.” Actually it took ten minutes, and both kids had left the house by the time she returned.

Grant’s position was unchanged when she walked into the bedroom, his expression just as bleak.

“Tell me,” she’d whispered urgently, her mind whirling as she wondered what could possibly be wrong. Grant had been to see the doctor for a physical the week before; everything seemed fine, but there’d been the routine tests. Perhaps Dr. Lyman had found something and Grant was only now able to tell her. She sat down next to him again, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Grant had announced in a voice so hoarse that he didn’t sound like himself.

She’d kissed his cheek and felt him stiffen. “Grant, please—tell me what’s wrong.”

He’d started to weep then, huge sobs that shook his whole body. In the twenty years of their marriage, she could only recall a handful of times that her husband had revealed such deep emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he cried.

“Just tell me!”

He gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “You’re a good woman, Bethanne, but …” He faltered. “But I don’t love you anymore.”

At first she could only assume this was a hoax and she giggled. “What do you mean, you don’t love me anymore? Grant, we’ve been married for twenty years. Of course you love me.”

He closed his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, so sorry, but I’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried. I can’t carry on with this … this charade any longer.”

Bethanne was dumbstruck, staring at Grant. This was the man she’d loved and slept with all these years and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he’d become a stranger.

“What happened?” she asked uncertainly.

“Please,” he begged, “don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” At that moment she was more perplexed than angry. Rather than take his words personally, Bethanne immediately went into her problem-solving mode. Whatever was wrong could be fixed, the same way you’d have a broken faucet or a faulty outlet repaired. You just called a plumber or an electrician. Whatever was wrong simply needed the appropriate attention and then everything would go back to working as it always had.

“There’s a reason I don’t love you anymore,” her husband said from between clenched teeth. He tossed aside the comforter and got out of bed. His obvious irritation took her aback.

“Grant, what’s gotten into you?”

He climbed into his pants, hiked them up and closed the zipper. “Are you really this dense, or do I need to spell it out?”

In a matter of seconds he’d gone from tears to tyrant. “Spell out what?” she asked, innocently turning up her hands to receive whatever he had to tell her. She was more shocked by his rudeness than by what he was saying.

He paused, one arm in the sleeve of his shirt. He spoke without looking at her and without emotion. “There’s someone else.”

It hit Bethanne then; she finally understood. “You’re having an … affair?” She went numb and her mouth was instantly dry. Her tongue seemed to swell to twice its normal size, making speech impossible. In no way could this be true. She refused to believe it—Grant would never betray her like this. She’d know if he was cheating. Men had affairs in movies and in books. It was the sort of thing that happened to other women, other marriages, not hers. She’d clung to a surreal sense of denial for those first few minutes as he continued to dress for work.

“When? How?” she managed to stutter.

“We met at the office,” Grant said. “She’s another agent, recently joined the company.” He sighed heavily. “I tried to make it work with you and me, but it’s no good. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” There was a pleading quality in his voice, quickly replaced by anger. “Damn it, Bethanne, don’t make things any more difficult than they already are.” As if he’d planned this for days, he opened the closet door and extracted a suitcase, which he set on the bed.

“You’re … leaving?”

He answered by opening his dresser drawers and lifting out his clothes. Bethanne winced as she watched him drop a stack of neatly folded undershirts on the bottom of the suitcase. Grant was extremely particular about his T-shirts, which had to be folded just so. He was meticulous about every aspect of his personal appearance and that perfectionism extended beyond his hair and clothes.

“Where … where will you go?” Her head was crowded with questions, and it seemed the most inessential ones rose to the surface first.

“I’m moving in with Tiffany,” he announced.

“Tiffany?” she repeated, and why she should find humor in the midst of the most horrible moment of her life, she would never know. All at once she was laughing. “You’re leaving me for a woman named Tiffany?”

He glared at her as if she were truly demented and just then perhaps she was. “Go,” she said, almost flippantly, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I just want you to go.”

As if to prove her point, she’d marched all the way down to the basement and collected a second, even bigger suitcase, which she hauled to their bedroom. As she climbed down and then back up the stairs, she racked her mind, trying to remember if she’d ever met this Tiffany. To the best of her recollection she hadn’t. Grant’s office was filled with women, but she’d never suspected he was capable of such treachery. Although she was panting by the time she’d dragged the large suitcase up two flights of stairs, she didn’t pause for breath, her anger carrying her.

She flopped the empty suitcase carelessly on the bed, and a cloud of dust spread over the white comforter, which she ignored. Then she threw open the closet door, grabbed his suits around the middle and yanked them out, still on their hangers. Unceremoniously, she shoved them into the suitcase.

“Bethanne!” he shouted. “Stop it.”

“No,” she bellowed at the top of her lungs. Then, more quietly, she asked, “How long has this thing with you and Tiffany been going on?” When he didn’t reply, she demanded, “How old is she, anyway?” Once she’d started on this line of questioning, she couldn’t stop. “Is she married, too, or am I the only one being tossed aside?”

Grant refused to meet her gaze.

“A while?”

Again Grant refused to look at her as she packed his suitcases. She’d begun just throwing in his clothes but had quickly reverted to habit—folding, straightening, arranging.

“A month? Two months? How good is she in bed?”

“Bethanne, don’t.”

“How long?” She wouldn’t stop until he told her the truth.

Grant released a laborious sigh as if her relentlessness had broken him down. “Two years.”

“Two years!” she cried, consumed with rage. “Get out of this house.”

He nodded.

“Get out, and don’t come back.” In that moment she meant it. But not long afterward, she’d desperately wanted him home again. It embarrassed her now to remember how frantic she’d been to win back her husband’s affection. She’d been willing to do anything—see a counselor, beg, bribe, reason with him. At one point, just before the settlement hearing, she would’ve given up ten years of her life for Grant to return to his family.

But when Grant moved out of the house and in with Tiffany, he had no intention of returning. She’d nearly been destroyed by that. Eventually she’d had to accept it: Grant was never coming home. He didn’t love her anymore and nothing she said or did would change his mind.

Her marriage was dead, and burying it had virtually obliterated her self-esteem. If not for her children, Bethanne didn’t know what she would’ve done. Andrew and Annie needed her more than ever, and only for them did she continue.

When she’d finally made an appointment with an attorney, the man had been straightforward and helpful; what seemed like a fair financial arrangement had been settled upon. Grant refinanced the house for the third time and paid off their cars and their credit card bills with whatever equity he could extract, so they were both essentially debt-free. He was instructed to pay alimony for two years, plus child support until the children were out of high school. They would share college expenses. He hadn’t been late with a check yet, but then the state made sure of that. Bethanne would have to find a job soon, but for a dozen different reasons, she delayed.

It was now six months after the divorce had been finalized, and the fog was only starting to clear. She told herself she had to live one day at a time as she learned to deal with what her family and friends called her “new reality.” The problem was, she preferred her old reality….

Bethanne sipped her tea, which had begun to cool. She was startled from her thoughts when the door off the kitchen banged open and sixteen-year-old Annie came in, red-faced and sweating. Tendrils of wet hair pressed against the sides of her face. She wore a halter top and spandex shorts, and had apparently been out for a lengthy run. Because Annie had always felt close to her father, she’d taken the divorce particularly hard. Soon after Grant moved out, Annie had started running and would often go five and even ten miles a day. Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the only change in her daughter’s behavior. The new friends she’d acquired were a bigger concern.

Bethanne worried endlessly about Annie and the company she kept. The girl’s anger was focused on Tiffany, and Bethanne suspected that Annie’s new friends encouraged her more outrageous acts. While Bethanne was no fan of the other woman, whom she’d discovered to be fifteen years younger than her ex, she was afraid Annie might do something stupid in her zeal to retaliate against Tiffany, something that would involve the police.

Andrew had talked to Bethanne several times about various things he’d learned Annie had done. These included signing Tiffany up for magazine subscriptions, leaving her name and number with sales staff and scheduling appointments, all in Tiffany’s name. However, Annie remained scornfully silent whenever Bethanne tried to bring up the subject.

“You didn’t leave me a note,” Bethanne chastised mildly as Annie walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of water.

“Sorry,” the girl mumbled unapologetically. She twisted off the lid, leaned back her head and gulped down half the contents. “I figured you’d know. I run every day.”

Bethanne did know, but that was beside the point.

“How’d it go at the employment agency?” her daughter asked.

Bethanne sighed, wishing Annie hadn’t mentioned it. “Not good.” She’d known this job search would be difficult, but she’d had no idea how truly painful the process would be. “When I told the interviewer about my baking skills, he didn’t seem overly impressed.”

“You should work in a bakery.”

Bethanne had already considered that, but being around food for eight hours a day didn’t appeal to her.

“Andrew and I were the envy of all our friends.” Annie sounded almost nostalgic. “We had the best birthday parties and birthday cakes of anyone.”

“I used to organize great scavenger hunts too, but there’s little call for that these days.”

“Oh, Mom.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke.

“I’ll look seriously once the summer is over.”

“You keep putting it off,” Annie chided.

Her daughter was right, but after all these years outside the job market, Bethanne didn’t think she possessed any saleable skills. She was terrified that she’d end up at a grocery store asking people if they wanted paper or plastic for the rest of her life.

“I was thinking of selling cosmetics,” she said tentatively, glancing at Annie for a reaction. “I could set my own hours and—”

“Mom!” Her daughter glared at her. “That’s pathetic.”

“Lots of women make a very nice income from it, and—”

“Selling cosmetics is fine for someone else, but not you. You’re great at lots of things, but you’d make a terrible salesperson and we both know it. There’s got to be something you can do. Where’s your pride?”

For the last sixteen months it’d been swirling in the bottom of a toilet bowl. “I’d hate an office job,” Bethanne said. She wasn’t convinced she could ever adjust to a nine-to-five routine.

“You should do something just for you,” Annie insisted. “I’m not even talking about a job.”

Everyone Bethanne knew, including the counsellor she’d briefly seen, had told her the same thing. “When did you get so smart?” she teased.

“Isn’t there anything you’d like to do just for fun?”

Bethanne shrugged. “You’ll laugh and tell me it’s pathetic.”

“What?”

She sighed, reluctant to say anything. “I saw a yarn store the other day and was thinking how much I’d like to knit again. It’s been years. I made you a baby blanket, remember?”

“Mom,” Annie cried, flinching as though Bethanne had embarrassed her. “Of course I remember it. I slept with that yellow blankie until I was ten.”

“I used to enjoy knitting, but that was years ago.”

The front door opened, then slammed shut. Andrew, coming home from his part-time job at the local Safeway. He entered the kitchen, shucking off his backpack, and without a word to either of them, opened the fridge and stared inside. Apparently nothing interested him more than a soda, which he removed. He closed the door, leaning against it, and frowned at them.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking from Bethanne to his younger sister.

“Mom’s talking about wanting to knit again,” Annie said.

“It’s only something I’m thinking about,” Bethanne rushed to add.

“You can do it,” Annie told her firmly.

“Yeah,” Andrew agreed and popped the top of his soda.

But Bethanne wasn’t sure she could. It all seemed to require too much energy—finding a job, organizing her life, even knitting. “Maybe I will,” she murmured tentatively.

“You’re not putting this off the way you have everything else.” Annie opened the pantry door and pulled out the Yellow Pages. “Where was that yarn shop?”

Bethanne bit her lower lip. “Blossom Street.”

“Do you remember the name of it?” Andrew asked.

Annie flipped to the back of the massive directory.

“No, but listen—”

With her finger on the page, Annie looked up, eyes flashing with determination. “Found it.” She smiled triumphantly at her brother, scooped up the phone and punched out the number before Bethanne could protest. When she’d finished, Annie handed the receiver to her mother.

A woman answered. “A Good Yarn,” she said in a friendly voice. “How may I help you?”

“Ah, hello … my name is Bethanne Hamlin. I guess my name doesn’t matter, but, well, I was wondering if you still offer knitting classes.” She paused to take a breath. “I used to knit years ago,” she went on, “but it’s been a very long time. Perhaps it’d be better if I visited the store.” Bethanne’s gaze rose to meet her daughter’s.

“Give me the phone,” Annie demanded and without waiting for a response, grabbed it from her.

“Yes, that sounds great. Sign her up,” Annie ordered. She reached for a pad and paper and wrote down the details. “She’ll be there.” Half a minute later, Annie replaced the portable phone.

“You signed her up for a class?” Andrew asked.

“Yup.”

“I, ah …” Bethanne suddenly felt panicked about spending the money. “Listen, this might not be such a good idea, after all, because—”

Her daughter cut her off. “You’ll be learning to knit socks.”

“Socks?” Bethanne cried, vigorously shaking her head. “That’s far too complicated for me.”

“Mom,” Andrew said, “you used to knit all the time, remember?”

“Socks aren’t difficult, according to the shop owner,” Annie continued. “Her name’s Lydia Hoffman and she said they’re actually quite simple.”

“Yeah, right,” Bethanne muttered.

“You’re going, Mom, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“You’re going,” Andrew echoed.

Apparently their roles had reversed, although this was news to Bethanne. It must’ve happened while she wasn’t paying attention.

4
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

In Courtney’s opinion, this entire plan of her father’s was ridiculous and unfair. Okay, so she’d gotten into some minor trouble talking back to her teachers and letting her grades drop. It could’ve been a whole lot worse—like if the police ever found out who’d started that Dumpster fire four years ago. Who could blame her, though? Her mother had just died and Courtney was lost, angry, confused. She was doing better—not that she was over it. She’d never get “over it,” despite what her more clueless friends suggested. But in time she’d straightened herself out and worked hard to salvage her high-school years and now this. This!

Her senior year of high school would be spent with her Grandma Pulanski in Seattle. While the kids she’d grown up with all her life graduated together, she’d be stuck halfway across the country. Courtney loved her grandmother, but she couldn’t imagine living with her for an entire year.

There was no one else. No other place for Courtney to go while her father was in Brazil working as an engineer on a bridge-building project. Where he was going wasn’t safe for a teenage girl, or so he insisted.

Jason, her oldest brother, was in graduate school and had a job teaching summer classes. Her sister, Julianna, was a college junior; she was working, too, at a vacation lodge in Alaska. Courtney was the youngest. College expenses for her brother and sister kept adding up. Plain and simple, her father needed the money; otherwise, he would’ve waited until Courtney had graduated from high school. Except that when she did, there wouldn’t be much likelihood of getting a scholarship. Unfortunately her grades weren’t the greatest and her chances of receiving an enter-college-free card were about the same as winning the lottery. In other words, her dad would be stuck paying for her, too. Spending the year in Seattle was the obvious solution.

Everything would’ve been different if her mother hadn’t died in that freak car accident. It’d happened four years ago and still felt like yesterday.

“Courtney,” her grandmother called from the foot of the stairs. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Grandma.” There was no way she could sleep in with the television blaring at five o’clock in the morning. Her grandmother needed hearing aids but refused to believe it. Everyone mumbled, according to Vera Pulanski. Everyone in the whole world!

“I have breakfast cooking,” her grandmother shouted.

Courtney stared up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

She’d been with her grandmother for exactly a week and this was the seventh day in a row that they’d had this same conversation.

“I’ll eat something later,” Courtney promised. The thought of dry scrambled eggs made her want to gag, but that was how her grandmother cooked them. She had all these ideas from television about what was good for a teenager and what wasn’t. Apparently, the only way to prepare anything safely was to cook the hell out of it. As a result, her grandmother’s scrambled eggs tasted like rubber. Not that she’d ever eaten rubber, but she was convinced these would qualify.

“I hate to throw food away.”

“I’m sorry, Grandma.” With all the meals she’d skipped since she arrived, Courtney figured she should’ve lost weight. She hadn’t. The scale had glared accusingly up at her that very morning. Fresh from the shower and completely naked, she’d stepped onto the bathroom scale, a relic if there ever was one. She’d closed her eyes, then peered down at the numbers and those ridiculously tiny lines between them. Her grandmother didn’t seem to know about digital. Not only hadn’t Courtney lost weight, but it looked as if she’d gone up a pound. She wanted to weep. Starting a new school would be bad enough, but facing strangers while she was fat was even worse.

“Courtney?” Again her grandmother yelled at her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes, Grandma.” Vera obviously wasn’t backing off this morning.

“I’m going out for a while. I need to run a few errands.”

“Okay, Grandma.”

“I want you to come with me.”

Sighing heavily, Courtney sat up, thumped her feet onto the floor and let her shoulders slump forward. “Can I stay here?” she pleaded. After her shower, she’d put her pajamas back on, since she couldn’t think of a reason to get dressed. Not a good reason, anyway.

“I’d really like it if you joined me. You spend far too much time in your room.”

“All right, Grandma.”

“What did you say?”

Rising slowly, Courtney went over to the doorway and shouted, “I’ll be right down.”

Smiling, her grandmother nodded. “Good.”

Vera Pulanski was a wonderful woman and Courtney had always enjoyed her visits to Chicago. But this was different. She’d never had to live with someone this old before. Everything in the house would sell as an antique on eBay.

With a decided lack of enthusiasm, she pulled on her jeans and an oversize black T-shirt that had her dad’s company logo on the front. When she’d walked down the stairs Vera smiled sweetly and stopped her on the last step. Raising her arms, her grandmother cupped Courtney’s face as she studied her.

“You’re a beautiful girl.”

Courtney responded with a weak smile.

“You’re the apple of my eye, my youngest grandchild.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“I’ve always regretted that Ralph didn’t live long enough to know you.”

Her grandfather had died when Courtney was a few months old. “Me, too.”

“Now, what I’m about to say is only because I love you.”

Courtney bristled, bracing herself for another lecture. “Grandma, please, I know I need to lose weight. You don’t have to say it, all right?” Courtney couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of her voice. It wasn’t as if she could avoid looking in mirrors. She was overweight and well aware of it. The weight gain had happened after her mother’s death; until then, she’d been a size ten and suddenly, poof—she’d blown up into a sixteen. The thing Courtney resented most was being reminded of it by all those well-meaning folks who assumed it was easy to drop thirty-five pounds.

“Actually, that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” Her grandmother released Courtney’s face. “I think you need friends.”

“So do I.” She missed Chicago so much, she could cry just remembering everything and everyone she’d left behind. Even her house, which had been rented out for the year.

“You aren’t going to meet anyone holed up in your room, sweetheart,” her grandmother said gently. “You need to get out more.”

Courtney didn’t have a single argument. She lowered her eyes. “I know.”

“Come with me and I’ll introduce you around.”

She opened her mouth to object, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Her grandmother caught her by the hand and dragged Courtney toward the kitchen. The scrambled eggs were on the table and Courtney could’ve sworn they were the same eggs her grandmother had cooked the day before.

“I thought we’d go to the library and then the grocery store and after that, the yarn store.”

In other words, Courtney was being kidnapped.

“I’m ready now, dear, if that’s all right with you.”

“Me, too, Grandma.” The sooner she gave in, the sooner she could get back to her room.

“Let me check to make sure the lock on the front door is turned,” her grandmother said.

Actually, it was a full seven minutes before they left the house. After checking the front door, her grandmother went into the bathroom to refresh her lipstick. Then she decided she shouldn’t leave the eggs out, covered them with a piece of wrinkled plastic and set the plate in the refrigerator, which confirmed Courtney’s suspicions. Those were the same eggs as the day before.

“Are you ready now?” her grandmother asked, as if Courtney was the one holding up the process.

“Anytime you are.”

“Oh!” her grandmother cried. “I nearly forgot my purse,” she said, giggling. “My goodness, I might have locked us out of the house.”

Finally they were outside. The car, parked in the driveway, could’ve been in a museum. From what Courtney’s father had told her, the 1968 Ford Ranch station wagon was in prime condition. Well, it should be. The car was nearly forty years old and had only 72,000 miles on it. The door weighed a ton and creaked when Courtney opened it. Without another word, she slid onto the seat next to her grandmother.

Driving with Vera was not an experience one engaged in willingly. Once she’d started the engine, she turned to Courtney. “Look behind us. Is anyone coming?”

Courtney twisted around. “You’re fine, Grandma.” Then it occurred to her that her grandmother hadn’t asked this out of idle curiosity. “Grandma,” she said, “why didn’t you turn around and look?”

Her grandmother squared her shoulders. “Because I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Do you have a hearing problem, child? I can’t turn my head. I have this crick in my neck. It’s been there for twenty years—I never had such pain. The doctor said there’s nothing they can do. Nothing, and so I suffer. I don’t like to complain and I wouldn’t, but since you asked …”

Although the thought of being a passenger while her grandmother drove terrified Courtney, she didn’t say a word. What was the point? She’d managed to avoid car trips for the last few days, but she’d realized her luck couldn’t possibly hold.

Another question occurred to her. “Grandma, what would you do if I wasn’t with you?” Courtney suspected, fearfully, that her grandmother would just put the car in Reverse and gun it.

Tight-lipped, her grandmother adjusted the rearview mirror, using both hands to move it one way and then the other. “That’s what mirrors are for.”

“Oh.”

“Can we leave now?”

Her questions had clearly offended her grandmother. “Sure,” Courtney said with an enthusiasm born of guilt.

Her grandmother half turned to glance at her as they reached the first stoplight. “If you’re concerned about your weight, Courtney, I could help.”

Courtney eyed her suspiciously. “How?”

“Exercise. I swim in the mornings and you could join me and my friends.”

That didn’t sound like much fun, but then exercise wasn’t supposed to be. “I guess.”

“What do you guess?”

“It’s just an expression, Grandma. It means sure, I’d like that.” This was an exaggeration in the extreme, but her grandmother was making an effort to be helpful and Courtney felt she had to respond appropriately.

Their first stop after leaving Queen Anne Hill, the Seattle area where her grandmother lived, was the library, which seemed ultramodern, especially in comparison to Vera’s neighborhood. Her grandmother explained that it had only recently reopened after a renovation. While Vera picked up a reserved book—the latest hardcover romance by a local author—Courtney flipped through Vogue magazines, trying not to despair at all the thin, elegant models. And that was just the ads.

They drove to the grocery store next. Courtney didn’t have the latest census figures for the population of the Seattle Metro area—she was convinced it had to be in the millions—but her grandmother surely knew fifty percent of them. More times than she cared to count, they were waylaid by her grandmother’s friends, former neighbors, a dozen or more people from church, bridge club members…. Courtney must have been introduced to thirty people and she swore that not a single one was under seventy.

“Now Blossom Street,” her grandmother said as Courtney carried the groceries out to the car. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

Courtney bit her tongue to keep from reminding her grandmother that this was what she’d said at the last place. Seven conversations later, they’d driven off and now Vera was working her way into the angled parking space in front of the yarn shop. She rolled an inch or so, slammed on the brake, released it enough to roll another inch, then it was brake time again. Courtney should’ve predicted what would happen, but it blindsided her. Her grandmother’s bumper crashed against the parking meter hard enough to jolt her forward.

“Oh, darn,” her grandmother mumbled.

If darn was the best swear word Vera Pulanski knew, Courtney would be happy to broaden her vocabulary.

Climbing out of the car, she closed the heavy door and followed her grandmother inside. Courtney immediately walked over to the cat in the window and started petting him.

“Hello, Vera. How are you?” a young, petite woman said.

“Lydia, I’m glad to see you. This is my granddaughter Courtney. Courtney, Lydia.”

“Hi.” Courtney raised her hand in greeting.

“Do you knit?” Lydia asked.

Courtney shrugged. “A little.”

“I taught her one summer,” her grandmother boasted. “She took to it right off the bat.”

Courtney didn’t remember it that way, but she didn’t want to be rude.

“Courtney’s staying with me this year while her father’s in Brazil.”

Not wanting to listen to another lengthy explanation of her father’s important engineering role in South America, Courtney left the cat and wandered through the store. She’d had no idea there were so many different varieties of yarn. A display scarf knitted in variegated colors was gorgeous, and there was a felted hat and purse, a vest and a sweater.

“You could knit that scarf up in an evening,” Lydia said, lifting the end of it for Courtney to inspect.

“Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled widely. “It’s easy with size thirteen needles and one skein of yarn. You cast on fifteen stitches and knit every row. It’s that easy.”

“Wow.” Courtney had money with her, but hesitated. A twenty probably wasn’t enough to cover the cost of the needles and yarn, and she didn’t want to borrow from her grandmother.

Five minutes later, while Courtney was studying a display of patterned socks, Vera placed her purchases on the counter by the cash register. Courtney didn’t know what her grandmother was currently knitting, but she always seemed to have some project or other on the go. She hurried over.

“Did you see the socks?” her grandmother asked.

Courtney nodded. “Those new yarns are really amazing, aren’t they?”

“You could knit a pair of socks like that.”

“No way.”

“Would you like to?” Lydia asked.

Courtney considered the question. “I guess.”

“That means yes,” her grandmother translated. “Sign her up.”

“Sign me up for what?” Courtney wanted to know.

“The sock class,” her grandmother explained. “It’s time you met people, went out, got involved.”

“We’d love to have you,” Lydia assured her.

“My treat,” her grandmother added.

Courtney smiled, trying to show she was grateful. Actually, the idea was growing on her. She just hoped at least one other person in the sock class was under ninety years old.

5
CHAPTER

“Remember that you need two socks. How to achieve this feat? Knit both at the same time, and release the idea that they need to be identical!”

—Deborah Robson, knitter, writer, publisher of knitting books

www.nomad-press.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I try to spend at least part of every weekend with my mother. It’s been difficult for her since Dad died. Difficult for all of us. I so regret that Brad never had the opportunity to meet my father. I feel certain they would have liked each other. My dad was open and friendly, and he always found something positive in everyone he met. He had a kind word and usually a joke or two; even when I was at my sick-and-despairing worst, he could make me smile. No one told a story better than my father. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever stop thinking about him, because it seems that he’s on my mind more and more instead of less.

The adjustment to life without my dad has been hardest on Mom, though; she’s aged ten years in the last fourteen months. She’s emotionally shrunken—I don’t know what else to call it. She’s become frail and sad and uninterested in much. And she’s shrunk physically, too, as if her body is reflecting her inner state, which is one of grief, of diminished expectations. In fact, at her last doctor’s appointment, we learned that Mom is a full inch shorter than she was a few years ago.

The results of her osteoporosis tests aren’t back yet. All at once, Mom has a number of medical problems, and I attribute this decline in her health not only to grief but to loneliness. My father was her anchor, her companion.

Although it sounds like a cliché, it seems as though part of her is missing; without him, she can’t function the way she once did. I understand that, and to some degree I experience the same feeling. Dad was such a vital part of the woman I am.

When I arrived early Sunday afternoon, I found my mother in the backyard pruning her roses, fussing over them. Her flower garden is her pride, one of the few things she still cares about. She prunes the roses, she tells me, so they’ll grow stronger. I consider Dad’s death in the same light. Losing him helped me discern what was important in my life, what was real. Mostly, I needed to find my own path to happiness and to accept the challenges of independence. It was losing my father that gave me the courage to enlarge my life, and I did this by opening my own store—and through my relationship with Brad.

I stood in the open doorway watching her for a few minutes. Caught up in her gardening, Mom didn’t hear me. She had on a big straw hat to shield her face from the sun and wore her green garden gloves. There was a bucket at her side in which she dumped the clippings. I didn’t want to frighten her so I called her name softly.

“Lydia!” Mom turned toward me as I stepped out of the house. “I thought you’d be here sooner.”

“So did I, but I got sidetracked after church.”

“By Brad and Cody?”

I nodded. “I’m meeting them in an hour. We’re going to walk around Green Lake.” The three-mile stroll was good exercise and I get far less of that than I should. Brad, on the other hand, is in marvelous shape and can run circles around me. Cody has a golden retriever named Chase—because of his terrible habit of chasing after everything and everyone. Cody would probably bring his dog, but he’d been warned to keep Chase on his leash. Maybe I’d get a book on dog-training and work with Cody to teach him some basic commands. Anyway, this afternoon would be fun and I was half tempted to take my in-line skates, just so I could keep up with the two—or rather, three—of them.

My mother’s hand trembled as she snipped another branch. I’d noticed the shaking more often lately. “What did you have for lunch, Mom?” I asked. Her eating habits were atrocious, and Margaret and I worried that she wasn’t getting the nutrition she needed. We also worried about her medications. My fear was that some days she took more than prescribed and on others she skipped them entirely.

“What did I eat for lunch?” Mom repeated as though she needed to think about this.

“Lunch, Mom?” I coaxed gently.

“Tuna and crackers,” she recalled and looked at me with such a triumphant smile that I smiled back.

Still, I had to ask, “That’s all?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry. Now, don’t pester me by insisting I eat when I don’t have an appetite. Your father used to do that. I didn’t like it then and I refuse to listen to it now.”

“All right, Mom.” I’d leave it for now, but we’d have to check out some alternatives. Meals on Wheels, perhaps. Or a part-time housekeeper if, between us, Margaret and I could afford one. I’d discuss it with her soon.

“Next Sunday is Father’s Day,” Mom pointed out. “Will you take me to the cemetery? I’d like to put a vase of my roses on your dad’s grave.”

“Of course. Margaret and I will both come.” I was speaking out of turn and hoped my sister would agree to accompany us. She’d been so prickly and out of sorts lately. The closeness we’d briefly shared had evaporated like a shallow rain puddle in the sun. Whatever was wrong, she didn’t feel comfortable enough to share it with me, and frankly, that hurt. We’ve come a long way in our relationship, but it was situations such as this that reminded me how far we had yet to go.

As if the strength had gone out of her legs, Mom reached for a patio chair and sat down. Lifting the hat from her head, she wiped her forehead with one arm. “My goodness, it’s hot.”

I glanced at the temperature gauge my father had hung on the side of the house, and it read seventy-four degrees, which surprised me because it didn’t feel that warm. Of course, my mother had been working outside for at least an hour, more likely two.

“Would you like to go out for dinner, Mom?” I asked, thinking that would be a treat for us both.

“No, thank you, honey. I’m not hungry. I met Dorothy Wallace at the Pancake Breakfast the Knights of Columbus held after Mass and we ate our fill.”

Translated, she had one small pancake without butter or syrup, followed by a lunch of tuna and crackers, and she’d probably skip dinner altogether.

“Besides, Margaret phoned and she’s stopping by with the girls later this afternoon.”

Some of my worry left me. Margaret would make sure Mom had a decent meal at the end of the day.

“She enjoys working with you,” my mother continued. “She’s not one to say it, but she does.”

I wondered if I should mention my concerns about my sister. I decided against it, although Margaret had been weighing heavily on my mind since my conversation with Brad earlier in the week. There was no need to bring Mom into this. She’d certainly mention my concerns to my sister, and that would infuriate Margaret; she would resent me for discussing her with Mom, and then I’d hear about it for weeks.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked.

Her smile was distracted. “I’d love a glass of iced tea.”

I went inside and poured one for each of us, then added slices of lemon. Several other lemons had shriveled up and I tossed them without telling Mom. A quick look in the refrigerator had revealed a carton of milk a month past its expiry date and a package of liquefying spinach. I’d tossed those too. When I returned to the patio, Mom had replaced the hat and was sitting with her back to the sun.

I joined her and handed her the glass, savoring the warm sunshine against my skin, the sound of birds in the distance along with the swish, swish of the sprinkler watering the lawn.

“Tell me about the shop,” Mom suggested. “Did you get in any new yarn this week?”

She especially enjoyed the stories about my customers; so many of them had become my friends, especially Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, my original class members. We’ve created a real bond, the four of us, and it’s rare for me not to see them during the week. If nothing else, one or two always showed up for the charity knitting session on Fridays.

I talked nonstop for almost twenty minutes about the shop and described the three women who’d recently signed up for the sock class. The one who interested Mom most was Courtney Pulanski, the seventeen-year-old granddaughter of Vera Pulanski, a regular.

“I’m thinking of holding a potluck once a month,” I said, wanting her opinion on this new idea—partly to allow her to feel involved and partly because I trusted her instincts. Over the years, she’d been a valuable sounding board to my father in his businesses.

“Do you have room at the store?”

“I think so, if I do a bit of shuffling.” When I first opened my doors, there was room to set up a large table for classes, but as I’d brought in additional lines of yarn, much of that space had disappeared. Now the table, which sat six people, was surrounded by several displays.

“Are you sure you want food around all that yarn?”

My mother echoed my own reservations. “I thought we’d sit at the table where I hold my classes and put the food on a card table in the office.”

My mother raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “It might work, but what would be the purpose of these monthly potlucks?”

Good question. “Well, I want my customers to get to know one another. Plus, when one person shows the others what she’s knitted, it inspires them.” It was for this very reason that I often knit up patterns for display in the shop. “You could join us, Mom,” I said enthusiastically. “Margaret and I would love that.” As often as possible, I try to include her. Both Margaret and I work at giving Mom little things to look forward to so she feels active and alive.

From the way Mom frowned, I doubt she heard me. “Hold a monthly show-and-tell session and keep the food out of it. If you want to eat, go to a restaurant afterward.”

I liked that idea. “Thanks, Mom.”

I could tell she was pleased I’d come to her for advice. I’m sure it’s something she missed, since she’d so often taken that role with my father. We sat and chatted for another thirty minutes and then I left to meet Brad and Cody.

They were in the parking lot at Green Lake waiting for me, Chase tugging at the leash.

“Hi,” I called as I climbed out of the car. Chase wasn’t the only one eager for this outing.

Cody raced over to the car and briefly hugged me. “Can we go now?”

His father patted his head. “Okay, sport, but don’t get too far ahead of us, all right? And hold on to Chase.”

Cody didn’t take time to answer. He was off like a rocket, boy and dog together, Cody’s young legs pumping with an energy I envied.

Brad and I started walking at a brisk pace. As always on a sunny weekend day, the place was crowded with people and dogs. We passed a man with a guitar who sat on the grass strumming folk songs and a toddler chasing after a butterfly. There were a couple of canoes close to the shore. Brad and I walked side by side, keeping an eye out for Cody and Chase.

“How’s your mother?” he asked, knowing I’d spent part of the afternoon with her.

Right then, I didn’t want to launch into a long discussion about my anxiety over Mom. That conversation wasbest reserved for Margaret, and I’d initiate it soon. “She’s about the same,” I said, which was true enough. “My sister and the girls are visiting later today. Mom needs that.”

“Speaking of Margaret, has she said anything to you?”

“About what?” I asked cautiously.

Brad reached for my hand and we entwined our fingers. I smiled up at him, forgetting Margaret. It’s times like these, when we’re feeling close and connected, that I get lost in a sensation of such bliss I can barely contain myself. Like any woman, I hunger for love, marriage, a family. Because of the cancer, I didn’t think I’d ever have that chance. Every single day, I was grateful all over again for Brad, grateful to have him in my life, grateful to be loved by him despite my imperfections and flaws. He says the fact that I’ve battled cancer not once but twice makes me a two-time winner. I am a winner and I feel so incredibly blessed.

“I think I know what Margaret’s problem might be,” Brad said, jolting me out of my reflection.

“You do?” I was a little reluctant to talk about Margaret at the moment; I preferred to revel in my own contentment.

“Yeah. I ran into Matt at the hardware store yesterday afternoon,” Brad told me.

My brother-in-law is a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy. I consider him a good balance for my sister, who usually has a pessimistic slant on things. Matt doesn’t take life as seriously as she does. I find that he doesn’t overreact the way she tends to and—even more appealing—he never holds grudges.

“What did Matt have to say?” The four of us had gone out on occasion, and Brad and Matt had hit if off. Margaret invited us over for dinner a few months ago, and we’d played cards until the wee hours of the morning. I’d hoped to see more of them socially, but so far we hadn’t.

“He’s not working.”

“What do you mean, not working?” Matt had been with Boeing for as long as I could remember, probably twenty years.

“Not working as in he got laid off.”

“What? When?”

“Three months ago.”

“No.” That couldn’t be right. Three months? Margaret hadn’t said a word about this for three months? I was in shock.

“That’s what he told me. He’s been pounding the pavement, looking for work, but nothing’s happening for him.”

My heart sank. “But I thought …” I didn’t know what I thought. This was crazy. I’m Margaret’s only sibling, and if she couldn’t talk to me, then who could she confide in?

“Matt seemed to think I knew, so I played along.”

The tingling feeling that usually precedes tears came over me. Sure enough, I felt my eyes prickling and my throat closing up.

“Are you going to cry?”

I sniffled and nodded. “You’d think she could’ve told me,” I said hoarsely.

“At least you know why she’s been so tense lately.”

That didn’t help. “I’d hoped my own sister would trust me, but I was obviously wrong.” I swiped the tears from my eyes before they could roll down my cheeks. Now I understood, and so much of Margaret’s behaviour at the shop lately started to make sense. Not only had she been moody, but she hadn’t purchased new yarn in weeks, or bought anything from the French bakery across the street. In fact, now that I thought about it, I realized she hadn’t spent any money at all unless it was absolutely necessary.

“I should’ve known,” I whispered, suddenly feeling guilty. “I should’ve figured it out.”

“How could you?”

My sister isn’t the easiest person in the world to read, but in my heart I felt I should’ve recognized the signs. And maybe I should’ve paid more attention to the news; layoffs at Boeing always merited an article or two. I hadn’t even noticed….

“Are you going to say anything?” Brad asked.

I considered my answer carefully. “I don’t think so.” For her own reasons, Margaret hadn’t seen fit to share this information with me. I wouldn’t force her to do so now, but I hoped that in time, she’d feel she could. Until then, all I could do was love her, be patient with her short-tempered comments and wait for her to trust me.

“You will, you know,” Brad insisted softly. “I know you too well, Lydia. You won’t be able to keep this buried for long. It just isn’t in your nature.”

I scoffed at him, but I realized he was probably right.

6
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise discovered that she was looking forward to starting the sock class. Without letting her daughter know, she’d purchased yarn to knit David, her son-in-law, the first pair. It was a small way of showing her appreciation for his kindness in allowing Elise to live with them during this legal mess. According to a recent update from the attorney, there hadn’t been much progress yet; patience was advised. She still felt mortified that, after all her careful planning, she’d ended up living with her daughter and son-in-law, no matter how temporary that arrangement was.

The afternoon before the Tuesday class, Elise sat on the patio reading, an activity that never failed to satisfy her. Her love of books went back to when she was a child. She was an early reader, and could remember sitting in her crib with a book in her hands, utterly content. That love of books had served her well through the years.

Today she was rereading Jane Austen’s Emma, something she did every decade or so. There were books like that, the true classics she returned to time and time again. Austen, the Brontës, Flaubert and her favorite, George Eliot. These writers described women’s lives and emotions in ways that still resonated a century or more later. She’d just reached the scene where Mr. Knightley chastises Emma when Aurora opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio to join her. “Can we talk for a few minutes, Mom?” she asked tentatively. Aurora sat on the chair next to the chaise longue where Elise reclined with her legs stretched out. Her daughter held a tall glass of tea, ice cubes clinking. She was obviously nervous.

“Of course.” Elise carefully inserted her bookmark and closed Emma. Judging by the way Aurora leaned forward, this was important.

“I want to talk about Daddy,” her daughter informed her, diving headfirst into the most unpleasant of subjects.

Elise was always cautious about anything to do with her ex-husband. Maverick was a slick and dangerous man, personable to the degree that it was difficult to refuse him whatever he might want. “I suppose that would be all right.” Her daughter knew the basic story of how Elise had met Maverick, fallen stupidly in love and married him. The marriage hadn’t lasted eighteen months, two years on paper.

Oh, how that man could talk. Elise swore he could charm a rattlesnake. From the time she was a teenager, she’d known she wasn’t a particularly attractive woman. Maverick had adamantly claimed otherwise, and being young and naive, Elise had delighted in those compliments, swallowing them whole. She’d believed him because she so badly wanted to be as lovely as he said she was. When she was with Maverick she felt beautiful, but it didn’t take her long to realize she was living a fool’s dream.

“What about your father?” Elise asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

“You loved him once, right?”

That was a tricky question and difficult to answer. Maverick had come into her life when she’d been at a vulnerable age, when hormones had overruled common sense. At the time, she’d believed she was in love but later acknowledged that it had been lust they’d shared and not love. Love lasts. What they shared didn’t. Yet, all these years after the divorce, she still dreamed of him, yearned for him and wished with everything she held dear that their marriage had turned out differently. The relationship might have worked if Elise could have found a way to accept the man he was.

Unfortunately she hadn’t and it was too late for them. Over the years he’d flitted about the country and, in her view, wasted his life. In some respects she had, too, Elise recognized sadly.

“Mom, you did love him, didn’t you?” Aurora repeated anxiously.

“Yes, I did.” So much that even now it frightened her to admit it.

Her daughter relaxed visibly. “We keep in touch, you know.”

Elise was aware of that. Maverick lived among the dregs of society, as she liked to put it, making his living from card-playing and God knew what else. But apparently he was successful—enough to support Aurora all her life and through college.

Besides his regular payments and then tuition, he’d always sent extra for their daughter’s birthday and at Christmas. The first seventeen years following their divorce, he wrote Aurora once a month but they were never long letters. Mostly he sent postcards to let her know where he was and if he was winning. Winning had always been important to Maverick. In fact, it was everything to him. He lived in search of the elusive jackpot that would set him up for life. To the best of Elise’s knowledge, he’d never found it.

“If you want to keep in touch with your father, that has nothing to do with me,” she primly informed her daughter. Elise had read those postcards, too, and wished she hadn’t—because she was afraid it meant she still cared, still hungered for what was destined never to be.

“Dad and I talk every now and then.”

Elise knew that too. When Aurora was a child, she’d been so excited whenever her daddy called. As an adult, she reacted the same way. Aurora hadn’t been disillusioned by her father yet, and Elise hated the thought that eventually her daughter would face the same disappointment she had. Maverick didn’t intend to hurt those he loved. He was simply careless with the feelings of others; the people he claimed to love never came first with him. He just couldn’t be trusted. If he said he’d be home by nine, he meant he’d be home at nine unless there was a card game going. His moods were dictated by whether he won or lost. If he won, he was elated and jubilant, swinging Elise in his arms and planning celebration dinners. If he lost, he suffered fits of anger and despair.

“He’s coming, Mom,” Aurora announced. She looked directly into Elise’s eyes.

“Coming,” Elise repeated as a numbing sensation spread through her. “To Seattle?”

Aurora nodded.

“Is there some big poker tournament taking place here?” Not that she was likely to know about it.

“He’s coming to see me,” Aurora added with more than a hint of defiance.

“How … fatherly,” Elise murmured sarcastically. “Once every five or ten years he—”

“Mom!”

“Sorry.” Elise clamped her mouth shut before she could say something she’d regret.

“This is what I never understood about you and Dad.” Her daughter seemed to be struggling to hold on to her composure. “You make me feel like I’m being disloyal to you because I choose not to ignore my father.”

“I do that?” This was a painful revelation, and Elise swallowed hard. All she’d wanted was to protect Aurora from certain disillusionment.

Aurora nodded and the tears that brightened her eyes were testament to the truth of her words.

“I’m so sorry. I never realized … I—I did that.” The guilt was nearly overwhelming.

“But you do. Never once in all the years I was growing up did I hear my father say a negative thing about you. Not once, Mom, and yet I can’t remember you ever saying a kind word about him.”

“That is not true.” Elise had tried hard to hide her feelings toward Maverick from their daughter. Surely she’d succeeded—hadn’t she? Gazing into her daughter’s pain-filled eyes, Elise realized that she hadn’t.

Aurora’s shoulders rose in a deep sigh. “Please, Mom, I don’t want to argue about this.”

“I don’t, either.” Racked with self-recrimination, Elise patted her daughter’s knee. “Your father is … your father. I wish I’d given you a better one, but that’s my mistake, not yours.”

“See what I mean?” Aurora cried. “You don’t have anything good to say about him.”

“I was the one married to him, remember? I loved Maverick but we weren’t meant to be together.”

“I know he failed you. He admits it.”

“He failed you too.”

“In some ways, yes, he did,” Aurora agreed, “but in other ways he was a wonderful father.”

Elise understood that Aurora had to believe this. Maverick was the only father she had, and his behavior, his long absences, were all she knew. If she’d ever wondered why he traveled as much as he did, she’d never asked her mother.

“So,” Elise said. The numbness had started to leave her. “Your father is visiting Seattle.”

“Yes, he is.” Aurora seemed to be waiting for more of a response.

“I don’t have a single qualm about you seeing your father,” Elise assured her. “He hasn’t even met his grandsons.”

“He’s looking forward to that.”

Again Aurora stared at Elise as if expecting something more.

“I don’t have to see him,” Elise said. Any encounter with him would be impossible. If Aurora wanted permission to visit with her father, then that was fine with Elise. But when it happened, Elise didn’t plan to be anywhere in the vicinity. “Have him over for dinner or whatever. I’ll conveniently be out for the evening or however long you need.”

Maverick would thank her. Elise was fairly sure he wasn’t any more interested in seeing her than she was in seeing him. They hadn’t spoken in years. There’d been no reason for them to have contact, which was the way Elise preferred it.

“You won’t be able to avoid seeing Dad,” her daughter said, her eyes fluttering in every direction.

“What you do mean?” Elise demanded as a sinking feeling settled over her.

“Dad will be staying here.”

“At the house?” Elise was aghast. This couldn’t be true, but she knew from the undeniable confirmation in Aurora’s face that it was. The numbness was back in full force, and spreading down to her legs. “Does he know I’m living with you?”

Her daughter answered with a nod. “I told him, but he still wants to come.”

“For … how long?”

Aurora hesitated. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Elise exploded. The book fell onto the patio floor as she sat upright. “That’s out of the question! You can’t possibly believe the two of us can remain in the same house—together—for that length of time.” She blamed Maverick for this. He’d manipulated their daughter into agreeing to it, no doubt because he was down on his luck and penniless. Elise wanted to weep. “I’ll find someplace else for a while,” she murmured, thinking out loud. Really, that would be her preference, but all her things were in storage and God only knew where she could move for that short a period.

“Mom, calm down.” Then, in a softer voice, she added, “Please. There’s no need to overreact.”

Sliding her legs over the edge of the chaise, Elise felt like burying her face in her hands, an urge she resisted. This was going to be a disaster, but her daughter didn’t seem to recognize that.

“Dad’s never asked anything of me before,” Aurora said. “I couldn’t refuse him.”

“He tried the pity approach?”

“No,” she snapped and seemed offended that Elise would suggest it. “He didn’t. Dad has always been generous and wonderful to David, me and the boys.”

“The man isn’t to be trusted.”

“That’s only the way you view him, but to me, he’s my father.”

Elise felt guilty all over again. She was determined not to say another negative word about her ex-husband. “Okay, so he’s going to visit for a couple of weeks.”

Aurora nodded.

“And you’re sure he knows I’m living with you?”

“Yes.” From the tone of her daughter’s voice, Elise suspected this was a complication Maverick hadn’t expected. Well, whatever he was after, whatever he wanted, he’d have to get it past Elise—and she, thankfully, was wise to him. She wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Where will he sleep?” The three-bedroom house was adequate in size but there wasn’t a guest room. Elise had taken the third bedroom and arranged it into a tiny studio-like apartment. She had a microwave, her own bathroom, a television area complete with rocking chair, and her single bed. That was all she needed. She had privacy, a small refuge from the world, and could retreat to her room in order to give her daughter and family their own space.

“I’m putting Dad in with the boys.”

That was a wise decision. Her grandsons, while an absolute delight, could be little hellions. Maverick was unaccustomed to being around children. Elise suspected he wouldn’t last long sleeping in the same room as Luke and John.

“This isn’t the easiest situation,” Aurora continued.

Elise rolled her eyes toward the sky. “That’s putting it mildly.” Then she instantly felt another wave of guilt.

“I need you to work with me, Mom, not against me.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” Elise told her daughter, hiding her distress that Aurora would even imply such a thing.

“But you want to hurt Dad.”

“That’s not true,” Elise denied hotly. “I don’t have any feelings toward your father one way or the other.” That was a lie and her face flushed with color as she said it.

“Mo—ther,” her daughter cried, challenge in each over-enunciated syllable. “You have so many unresolved issues with Dad, it would take days to list them all.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Her daughter knew her well, but at this moment what mattered was maintaining a pretense of complete indifference. Somehow she’d survive these two weeks.

Aurora sampled her iced tea for the first time, her knuckles white around the glass. “I don’t want to get into that with you, especially now. I need your word that you won’t say or do anything, and I mean anything, to upset Dad.”

“I would never—”

“It’s crucial to keep the peace. I don’t want to subject the boys to your anger toward Dad.”

Elise was upset that her daughter could believe she’d be the one to cause problems. “You have my word I will do whatever I can to make your father’s stay as pleasant as possible.” If that meant hiding in her room for the next two weeks, then so be it.

“Don’t promise this lightly, Mom. It’s the most important request I’ve ever made of you.”

Elise wondered again whether she should move out and save them all this grief. Sadly, she had nowhere else to go. She was stuck in the same house with the man she’d both loved and hated for the last thirty-seven years.

7
CHAPTER

“Well-fitting and carefully knitted handmade socks are the ‘real’ ones; the store-bought variety are just pale imitations.”

—Diane Soucy, Knitting Pure & Simple, www.knittingpureandsimple.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

This was my first sock class and I was excited about our one-o’clock gathering. In the last year, I’ve taught several classes, and I’ve learned in the course of teaching that it’s critical to have the right mix of personalities. I had my doubts about the women making up this class, but I didn’t want to borrow trouble.

The personalities of the three women who’d enrolled for this one reminded me of my first knitting class the year before. Elise, Bethanne and Courtney had nothing in common that I could see, except a desire to knit. I’d felt the same way about the baby blanket class with Jacqueline, Carol and Alix. They were as different as any three women could be and yet we’d all forged enduring friendships in a remarkably short time. I continued to marvel over that and hoped history would repeat itself, although I didn’t really expect it. Generally I’m not a pessimist—unlike my sister—but Elise Beaumont struck me as unyielding and circumspect, so self-contained. Bethanne Hamlin, judging by our brief meeting, was nervous and jittery, ready to run and hide at the slightest noise. Courtney Pulanski was a teenager. I felt sorry for her—the poor kid looked aghast when her grandmother insisted on signing her up. Unfortunately, I just didn’t see these three people as a good mix.

I cast a glance toward Margaret, who was busy with a customer as I prepared for the class. This morning, first thing, I’d given my sister an opportunity to open up to me about Matt’s work situation, but she remained closemouthed. I found it difficult to disguise my disappointment, but I didn’t feel I could let on what I knew. Nor did I want to pressure my sister into confiding in me. My heart ached for her—and for me, too. I had a dozen questions I was dying to ask; among my other concerns, I wanted to know how my nieces, Julia and Hailey, were handling this. I’ve always been close to them, and I believed they would have mentioned it to me unless Margaret had forbidden it. In some ways, I could understand my sister’s reluctance, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

The bell above the door chimed and Elise Beaumont walked into the shop. She wasn’t what I’d call a warm, friendly person, but she’d been cordial enough on our first meeting. This morning, however, she radiated displeasure. She also looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Had I known her longer I might have asked, but since she was a new customer, I decided against it. Oh dear, this class was not getting off to a good start.

“Good morning.” I hoped my greeting would draw her out, but she frowned at me.

“I need to know how long this class will take.”

I reached for the flyer Margaret had made on the computer and handed it to her as a reminder. “Two hours.”

“I suppose that’ll be all right.” With a glum expression, Elise pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, placing her knitting bag in her lap.

I remembered that she’d already chosen what she’d need for the class—a self-patterning yarn in light blue with specks of gray and black. Presumably she’d be knitting her socks for a man.

No sooner was Elise at the table than Bethanne entered, dressed rather formally, in my opinion, followed almost immediately by Courtney, who couldn’t have looked less formal in her jeans and oversize T-shirt. Without a word they each walked to the back of the store and took a seat at the table, as far apart as possible.

I stepped up to one end and smiled. “I see we’re all here. I hope you’ll enjoy learning the craft of knitting socks with circular needles. We’re in for a bit of a knitting adventure, but I know you won’t be disappointed. I think it’d be best if we began with introductions. Why don’t you all tell us something about yourselves.”

My students stared up at me; they seemed to be waiting for someone else to start. “Okay, I’ll go first,” I said. “I’m Lydia Hoffman, and I opened A Good Yarn just over a year ago. I love knitting, and this gives me a chance to do something I really care about. I also love the opportunity to convert others.” I grinned as I said this and gestured to Courtney to go next.

The teenager straightened and glanced at the other two women. “Hi,” she said and gave a short wave. “My name is Courtney Pulanski. I’m seventeen, and I recently moved in with my grandmother for my senior year of high school. My mother died a few years ago and Dad’s working in Brazil as an engineer.” She hesitated, then added, “That about sums it up.”

“You’re living with your grandmother your senior year?” Elise repeated sympathetically. “That must be difficult.”

Courtney swallowed hard. “Dad agonized over the decision and so did I, but it seemed to make the most sense. I’m close to my sister and brother and we talk practically every day. Dad sends me e-mails, too, when he can, but he’s been busy and, well—I know he’s thinking about all of us.”

Elise nodded. “That helps, I’m sure.”

“It does,” the girl whispered and looked down, obviously fighting back tears.

Wanting to remove the focus from Courtney, I smiled at Bethanne. “How about you?”

“Oh, hi,” Bethanne said, leaning forward. “My name is Bethanne Hamlin. I’m a wife and mother of two.” She stopped a moment and her distress went straight to my heart. “Actually, I’m not a wife but an ex-wife. My husband and I were recently divorced.” She turned to Elise, as though anticipating a comment, and warded it off by adding, “I didn’t want to get divorced. But now that I’m no longer married, my daughter insisted I needed to do something for myself.” She ended on a soft, forced laugh. “So here I am.”

“You’ve knitted before, though, right?” I asked, certain that I remembered Bethanne telling me she’d once been an avid knitter.

“I completed several projects—fairly simple ones—when the kids were young. I have the yarn and the pattern for this class, and everything’s lovely, but I’m afraid I might be in over my head. Socks sound too complicated for me.”

Bethanne seemed ready to give up before she’d even begun. “With only the three of you in this class, I’ll be able to give you individual attention,” I assured her, “so don’t worry about that yet.”

“But I was wondering, you know,” Bethanne said hesitantly, “if I find I can’t do this, what’s the refund policy?”

“There are no refunds, sorry.” I just couldn’t afford it, and I didn’t want to encourage a defeatist attitude. “Elise?” I said.

“I’m Elise Beaumont and some of you might recognize me from Harry S. Truman Elementary School, where I served as librarian for thirty-eight years. I retired a little while ago and was looking for a project that would hold my interest. I thought I’d try my hand at knitting socks.” She sat back when she’d finished speaking.

I gave the three a few seconds to digest the information they’d shared, then said, “I’m glad you’re all here. While this class might be small in number, I generally find that to be an advantage. Once you get into knitting socks,” I continued, “you’ll wonder what took you so long. They’re fun, and with the circular needle method they could almost be considered easy.”

My students listened as I showed them a variety of yarns available for socks, from fingering weight all the way to the Double Knit weight. I wanted to start them with a basic sock, but I explained that the designs would be as varied and as different as the yarn itself. I chose a Nancy Bush pattern. Nancy’s were among my favorites and I knew my students would like them as much as I did.

“The lesson today involves the Norwegian sock cast-on,” I said. “It’s a bit different than what you might be accustomed to, but I have a good reason for recommending it.”

“It sounds complicated,” Bethanne said, watching me closely as I twisted the yarn around the needle. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it.”

“Oh, for the love of heaven, you haven’t even seen how it’s done yet,” Elise muttered, suddenly short-tempered. “Let Lydia show us first and then you can complain.”

Bethanne seemed to go deep inside herself and didn’t utter another word.

“Let me demonstrate, Bethanne. It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks,” I said, wanting to cover the awkwardness of the moment. Whatever had upset Elise, she clearly was taking it out on poor Bethanne. From the second she’d walked in the door, I could tell she was aggrieved about something.

“My grandmother suggested I do the Knit Two-Purl Two rather than the Knit One-Purl One for a crew sock,” Courtney said.

I loved Vera, the girl’s grandmother, who was an accomplished knitter and one of my regular customers. I wondered why she hadn’t decided to teach Courtney herself, because she was more than qualified to do so.

“What do you think?” the girl asked.

“Your grandmother’s right. The Knit Two-Purl Two method gives the sock more elasticity, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”

“Oh, sorry.”

I talked for a few minutes about knitting a sock that would fit the foot properly. I also passed around a gauge to help the class figure out the proper number of stitches to cast on according to the weight of the yarn. The light, fingering style yarn required more stitches, the heavier yarns fewer.

“Is everyone still with me?” I asked.

All three nodded. I spent the remainder of the class teaching the Norwegian method of casting on and how to work with the two circular needles. Courtney picked up on everything right away. She finished first and looked up proudly while both Elise and Bethanne struggled with the needles and the yarn.

Most of my time was spent helping Bethanne. I’m sure she wasn’t lying when she said she’d knit years earlier, but she could barely hold on to the yarn and needles now. I’d never met a less confident woman and I have to admit Bethanne tried my patience.

My reaction to Elise’s difficulty wasn’t much better. She didn’t mutter an unnecessary word following her chastisement of Bethanne and I sensed she regretted the outburst. I also had the distinct feeling that she found me lacking as a teacher. It wasn’t a comfortable sensation.

After they’d finished, gathered up their supplies and left, I felt as if I’d put in a full day. I was exhausted.

“How’d the class go?” Margaret asked, joining me in the back office as I made myself some tea.

“Dreadful.”

“Really?”

I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it. It suddenly occurred to me that this might very well explain how my sister felt about discussing the troubles in her own life.

“I can see this isn’t going to be a good class,” I muttered.

Margaret was unaccustomed to a pessimistic outlook from me. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling …”

“And that feeling is?”

I sighed. “Elise is cranky. Bethanne is panicky and convinced she can’t remember how to knit. And Courtney is resentful.”

I wondered if I was going to regret offering this class.

8
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

After her knitting class, Bethanne waited at the white wrought-iron table outside the French bakery. Grant had reluctantly agreed to meet her, but it didn’t escape her notice that he’d chosen a public place, as if he anticipated her making a scene. She had no intention of doing any such thing; all she wanted was some help and advice. She hoped they could discuss the situation in a civil manner. Surprisingly perhaps, she didn’t hate Grant, and for the sake of their children, they needed to work together. Surely he recognized that, too.

Sipping an espresso, Bethanne hoped the strong hot coffee would bolster her courage. This would be an unpleasant conversation, especially when she brought up the subject of money.

Grant rounded the corner on foot and Bethanne wondered where he’d parked. She saw him before he saw her. He was a striking man, and even though he’d betrayed her in the most fundamental way, she couldn’t stop loving him. It angered her that she still had feelings for him, but her love was mingled with anger and horror and disbelief. This man walking toward her now was a virtual stranger.

When Grant caught sight of her, he didn’t smile; instead, he acknowledged Bethanne with a quick nod. She’d worn a black tailored blazer over a light-green silk blouse and expensive black trousers, and her hair was neatly drawn back with a large silver clip. He didn’t react to her appearance at all, even though he used to admire how she looked in this outfit. He pulled out the wrought-iron chair and sat down without a smile or any indication of pleasure at seeing her.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, thinking this would be easier if they were both relaxed.

“No.” He checked his watch. “I only have a few minutes. Now what’s the problem?”

Bethanne fought back emotion at the curt way he spoke. “It’s about Annie.”

“That’s what you said on the phone, and frankly I don’t see what she’s done that’s so far outside of the norm. Okay, she’s angry. It’s to be expected and Tiff’s been a good sport about putting up with the magazine subscriptions and the calls from the blood bank. You’re the one who seems to think Annie’s got this pent-up rage that’s about to explode.”

“I don’t think it, Grant, I know it. I’m worried … even Andrew’s worried. He wouldn’t have come to me if he wasn’t.”

“Fine, so you and Andrew are worried. I don’t mean to sound callous here, but I don’t think Annie’s that overwrought. A certain amount of animosity is normal and she’ll get past that soon enough.”

“But you aren’t the one living with her,” Bethanne argued. “I am. Yes, on the surface she seems to be adjusting, but she isn’t.” Grant shook his head contemptuously and she found herself growing even angrier. “When did you become an expert on the effects of divorce on teenage girls? What did you do, read a book?” It would be too much to expect that he’d talked to a counsellor.

Grant sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I know she’s taken up running, and that’s a good way for her to vent her frustration,” he said, ignoring her question.

“I know … I agree, but—”

“You’re using the kids as a convenient way to get to me,” he said, challenge in his voice.

“Get to you?” She managed not to yell. Her anger threatened to erupt but for the sake of her children, and because they were in a public place, Bethanne forced it down. She’d hoped to reach him, to show him that their daughter had a serious problem. She wasn’t sure how to deal with Annie and she wanted, needed, his help.

“I’m supposed to feel guilty,” Grant muttered. “That’s what you’re trying to do here. You’re manipulating me, and Annie’s just as bad. God knows both kids are yanking my chain. According to the terms of the divorce, they’re supposed to spend every other weekend with me. They refuse, and you let them! Well, I’m sick of your games—and theirs too.”

It was true; Andrew and Annie strenuously resisted all her efforts to send them to Grant’s place for the mandated weekends. She couldn’t force them to go. Not at their age.

“But, I—”

He stood as if he’d said everything he intended to say.

Bethanne knew that unless she confessed what she’d done, Grant would simply walk away. “I … I read Annie’s journal.” She wasn’t proud of that, but instinct had told her something was wrong. The few entries she’d read had made her blood run cold. Annie had experimented with drugs and was sneaking out at night, meeting her new “friends.” The boys Annie wrote about weren’t the ones Bethanne had met and what went on during these secret meetings she was afraid to speculate.

Grant sat back down. “You did what?”

“I read her journal. Oh, Grant, you don’t have any idea how furious she is at both of us. She’s fooling around with … with things she shouldn’t, and—”

He shrugged as if to say Bethanne should have expected this. “She’ll get over it. This divorce was a shock, and we need to give her time.”

“Get over it?” Bethanne repeated. Grant didn’t even seem to care. The pain in her chest nearly suffocated her. She wondered if he’d always been this callous and she just hadn’t seen it or if he’d changed completely in so short a time.

“It’s normal in this kind of situation.”

Normal? Normal that he’d abandon his family? Normal that he’d inflict this pain on the very people he’d vowed to love and cherish—and then shrug it off as if it meant nothing? Normal that in her pain and rage Annie would risk destroying her own life? Hearing Grant talk so flippantly about their daughter nearly crushed her heart.

“I suppose you’re right,” Bethanne murmured, and stared down at her coffee. “But I thought I should give you fair warning.”

“About what?”

“Annie’s little problem with hate.” She’d planned to tell him that, according to Andrew, their daughter was going to step up her campaign against Tiffany, but she’d let Grant deal with it.

“Is there anything else?” he asked impatiently.

“One small thing.” Bethanne circled the coffee cup with both hands and refused to meet his eyes. Discussing money with her ex-husband was distasteful.

“Yes?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh.

“Andrew has signed up for football camp.” Their son was a talented athlete and Bethanne was sure he’d be offered a scholarship to either the University of Washington or Washington State.

“Yes, so I understand.”

“I don’t have the money for it.” It was embarrassing to admit this, but she had no choice. “If you could pick up the cost of the camp, then I’ll cover everything else.”

“What do you mean by everything else?” he asked. “Like what?”

Already she was worried about a number of upcoming expenses—expenses she didn’t know how she could meet. “I got a notice at the end of the school year that athletic fees will double in September. The school levy failed and—well, with that plus the expense of his senior pictures, I thought it was only fair that you cover the cost of the camp.” She didn’t bother to mention that when school started again in September, there’d also be the cost of new clothes and a hundred other related expenses.

“You can’t afford the camp?”

“I can, but then there wouldn’t be enough left over to make the house payment.”

Grant didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I was afraid of this,” he murmured.

Bethanne could only imagine what he meant. “I don’t intend to run to you every time I need money,” she assured him.

“You’re doing it now.”

“Yes, but …” Surely he understood that the child support he’d been ordered to pay didn’t begin to cover what it cost to raise two teenagers.

“Bethanne, listen, I can’t help you. Please don’t come to me again.”

“But—”

“I’m giving you alimony and child support. Have you got a job yet?”

Eyes cast down, she shook her head.

“That’s what I figured. Have you even tried looking?” he asked sarcastically, as if he already knew the answer. “Every penny you’re now collecting comes directly from me. I don’t see you making any effort to support yourself.”

“I have tried, but I don’t know what else to do, where to look.” Admitting her weakness was humiliating. She longed to lash out at him, blame him, curse him, but it would do no good, so once again she swallowed what little was left of her pride.

“Start looking for a job by reading the newspaper,” Grant suggested in a condescending tone. “If nothing else, you can open a child-care center at the house. You always prided yourself on being a good mother.”

Bethanne used to think she was, but she’d also thought of herself as a good wife. Apparently not. She tried to shake off these feelings of failure.

“Use your natural skills,” Grant went on, “in a way that isn’t a constant drain on me.”

She flinched at the blow his words dealt her.

“I don’t mean to be ugly here, but it’s time you woke up and smelled the coffee.” He smiled at his own feeble joke, since she was sipping an espresso. “In two years, Annie will have graduated from high school and the child support payments will be over.”

“What about college?” That had already been determined in the divorce settlement, as she had every intention of reminding him.

“We’re splitting the college expenses, remember? That means not only will you need to be self-supporting, but you’ll have to earn enough to pay your portion of the kids’ expenses. I suggest you find yourself a career in short order.”

“I know, but …”

“You always have an excuse, don’t you?”

This time it was Bethanne who stood, eager to leave, to escape from this cold, selfish man who’d done everything in his power to destroy her. Now more than ever she was determined to prove him wrong.

“Goodbye, Grant. Don’t worry that I’ll trouble you again,” she said from between clenched teeth. She glared at him, hoping he could see and feel her contempt. How had she managed to live with him all those years and not know the kind of man he was?

Bethanne left the café, but once Grant had stalked off in the opposite direction she required a few minutes to compose herself before she headed down the street to where she’d parked the car, her knitting stashed in the trunk. She’d already tried to get a refund for the class, which was an unnecessary expense, but it was too late now. The money had been spent; she wouldn’t waste it.

As she reached her car, she noticed a brand-new Cadillac turning the corner. It was the style and color Grant had mentioned wanting—before the divorce. Her eyes flashed to the driver and, sure enough, it was her ex, driving a car so new it still carried the dealer’s plates. He refused to help her with the cost of football camp for Andrew, but he could afford an expensive car he didn’t even need.

9
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

“Courtney!”

Courtney heard her name being called up the stairs but, still warm and sleepy, she chose to ignore it and linger in bed.

“Courtney!” the discordant voice persisted. “You asked me to get you up, remember?”

She groaned, rolled over and opened one reluctant eye to stare at the antique clock on her bedstand. Her grandmother didn’t have a digital clock in the whole house. The big hand was on the six and the little hand on the five. It was five-thirty!

“Courtney!” her grandmother shouted. “It’s too hard for me to go up and down these stairs, but I will if I have to. Now get up!”

Tossing aside the warm covers, Courtney staggered out of bed and to the top of the staircase. “I’m up.” She just didn’t know why.

“Thank goodness.” Vera Pulanski paused on the third step and looked greatly relieved to be spared the agony of the climb. “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

Courtney stared blankly into space until she realized that wherever her grandmother was going, she intended on taking Courtney with her. “It’s only five-thirty.”

Her grandmother turned back to face her. “I know what time it is. I want to be at the pool when it opens at six.”

“Oh.” This was dreadful. Yes, they’d discussed swimming but Courtney had no idea that she’d have to get up at this ungodly hour. In fact, the entire discussion was a distant and rather unpleasant memory. Her grandmother had said that if Courtney wanted to lose weight, she should start exercising. She vaguely recalled that she’d agreed to give swimming a try, more to satisfy her grandmother than anything else.

Needing to hurry, Courtney dug her bathing suit out of her bottom drawer and prayed it still fit. A lot of her clothes didn’t anymore, and she had to go through several contortions to zip up her jeans. Most of her shirts no longer buttoned without leaving a gap, so she wore them open over a tank top. It wasn’t so easy to hide her weight gain with jeans, though, and already the stitching was threatening to rip.

“I have an extra towel.” Her grandmother’s voice floated up the stairs again. “Don’t take any of the ones from the bathroom. They’re part of a set.”

“I won’t, Grandma,” Courtney yelled back. She stripped off her pjs and stepped into the one-piece suit, pulling it up over her thighs. It fit, but just barely. Pride demanded that she not look in the mirror. The consolation was that she probably wouldn’t see anyone her age at the pool this early in the morning. She donned sweatpants and a T-shirt, slipped her feet into flip-flops and trudged down the stairs.

Her grandmother was waiting by the door and handed Courtney a towel, purple cap and goggles. “They’re old,” she said, referring to the goggles, “but they’ll be all right until we can buy you a new pair.”

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Actually, Courtney was impressed. She hadn’t known that people as old as her grandmother went swimming.

More surprises awaited her. The Olympic-length pool was in the high school. The adult lap swim session started at six and lasted until seven-thirty every morning. The lobby was filled with older people who all seemed to know each other.

Courtney walked in with her grandmother and, from the greetings she received, one would assume Vera had been gone for months. Her grandmother painstakingly introduced Courtney to her swimming buddies. A dozen names flew by so fast she had no hope of keeping track, but she did try. As much as possible, she attempted to blend into the wall. The sun might be up and shining but no reasonable person should be, in Courtney’s opinion.

“So how do you like living in Seattle?” one of her grandmother’s friends asked.

Courtney thought the woman’s name was Leta. “Oh, it’s great.” She forced some enthusiasm into her voice. Well, it might be if she met someone younger than eighty. This whole knitting thing was a major disappointment, too. First, she’d had no idea the class would be so small. There were only two other women and both were way older. One was around her grandmother’s age and a real biddy. She looked like she’d been sucking lemons half her life. The other woman was probably close to her mother’s age—if her mother had been alive.

A sick sensation hit Courtney in the pit of her stomach as she thought about her mother. It shouldn’t still hurt like this, but it did. Her brother and sister seemed to deal with the loss so much better than Courtney. No one wanted to talk about Mom anymore, and Courtney felt as if she was supposed to forget she’d ever had a mother. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t.

Julianna, her sister, hadn’t gained thirty-five pounds the way Courtney had. In fact, her sister had lost weight. Jason thought weight was a nonissue. The one and only time Courtney had talked to her brother about her problem, he’d shrugged it off. His advice was to lose the weight if it bothered her so much. He said it like it was easy. If getting weight off was that simple, she would’ve done it long ago.

“We have rules here at the pool,” Leta said, moving closer to Courtney. “No one’s ever written them down, but it helps if you follow them.”

“Okay.”

“You should know the middle shower is mine. I’ve used it for eighteen years and if you get out of the pool first, I’d appreciate if you’d leave that shower for me.”

“No problem.” Courtney made an effort to remember this.

“Wet your hair before you get in the water,” another of her grandmother’s friends advised, joining Leta. “Drench it real good, otherwise the chlorine will ruin your hair.”

“You’ve got a cap, don’t you?” someone else asked. “I hate swimming and having my hands come up full of someone’s hair.”

Yuck. What a disgusting concept. “Grandma gave me a cap.” She hadn’t planned to use it, but Courtney could see that she was likely to get booted out if she didn’t.

“How fast a swimmer are you?” Leta asked.

“Ah …”

“She should use the middle lane,” Courtney’s grandmother suggested. “Most of us swim in the first lane,” she explained to Courtney. “The third lane is for the fast swimmers. Start in the middle lane and see how it goes.”

“Okay.” Courtney was waking up now, and everything was beginning to make sense. Sort of. Don’t use the middle shower, but swim in the middle lane and wear a cap, but get her hair completely wet first. So far, so good.

Courtney just hoped all this exercise wouldn’t make her hungry.

When the doors opened, the group flowed into the pool area. The men turned right and made their way to one end, while the women went left toward their locker room.

Courtney followed her grandmother, Leta and the others. Vera already had her bag inside her locker when Courtney caught up to her. She took her time climbing out of her sweatpants, unwilling to have these older women view her chubby arms and legs. Her fear was that one of them—or even her own grandmother—would comment on the fact that her swimsuit was too tight.

She needn’t have worried. The women were intent on getting into the water and no one gave her any attention, for which Courtney was grateful. Nevertheless, she waited until the locker room had cleared out before she stripped down to her swimsuit.

Taking the advice she’d been given, she walked over to the shower area, turned on the faucet in the end shower and stuck her head inside. She wrung out her soaking wet hair and stuffed it inside the purple cap, thankful she didn’t know a soul. Anyone from home who saw her now would be hysterical.

But this was no laughing matter to Courtney. When school started in six weeks, she wanted to walk into class looking good—and she didn’t care what she had to do to achieve that. If losing weight meant waking up before the birds, consorting with women five or six times her age and abiding by all the unwritten rules at the pool, then she’d do it.

Leaving the change room took courage and she made a dash from the doorway to the water, attempting to look as cool and nonchalant as possible. The shock of the pool’s temperature when Courtney stepped down from the ladder nearly made her gasp. It was cold. The sign might say 81 degrees, but she swore it was closer to 70.

Her grandmother and friends had already begun their routines. Observing them, Courtney realized they swam in circles inside each lane—down one side and back up the other. Several of the women were walking in the shallow end, chatting as they went, and Courtney scooted past them, keeping her arms raised and out of the cold water. When she came to the lane divider, she had no choice but to go under. Freezing! The water surrounding the Titanic couldn’t have been this cold.

Once she was positioned in the middle lane, Courtney braced her feet against the wall and pushed off. She was panting by the time she swam to the far side and grabbed hold of the pool’s edge until she caught her breath.

Her grandmother and friends had no such problem. They might be eighty years old, but not only did they swim the entire length of the pool, they didn’t pause before turning and going back. Not even to breathe.

Courtney went a total of ten laps, resting after each one. When she finished number ten, she stopped long enough to adjust her goggles, even though they were fine. It gave her an excuse to take an extra breather. She was now ready to start her eleventh lap and felt downright proud.

Her grandmother had explained that sixteen laps was half a mile. In that case, half a mile in the water was a hell of a lot further than on land. Doing a quick calculation, she decided she’d already swum three-quarters of half a mile. This was great!

As soon as she got back to the house, Courtney planned to weigh herself. After such an intense workout she had to be down. It would be a relief to see that thin dial move in the opposite direction for once.

“Time to get out,” her grandmother told her before she could start the eleventh lap.

“I want to do a couple more,” Courtney protested.

“Not on Wednesdays. The swim team comes in at seven.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the water went through Courtney. “Swim team? Please tell me this isn’t the high-school swim team.”

Her grandmother lifted the goggles from her head and stared at Courtney in puzzlement. “Is that a problem?”

Of course it was a problem. It was bad enough to expose her body to her grandmother’s friends, but she was horrified at the thought of anyone from the high school seeing her like this.

What a disaster. To complicate everything, she hadn’t even brought her towel out from the locker room. She glanced through one of the large windows enclosing the pool. Just as she was about to leap out of the water and run for it, the foyer door opened and a line of impossibly thin girls filed in. Courtney didn’t dare look at the guys who followed. The girls on the swim team were intimidation enough.

She froze, unsure what to do. If she climbed out now, she’d expose her too-tight swimsuit and her fat to all those girls. They’d certainly notice someone her age with all these old ladies.

“Courtney,” her grandmother said loudly, standing on the deck. “It’s time to get out.”

“I know.” She sank to the bottom of the pool and sat there for a moment, wishing she could just disappear.

Eventually she was forced to climb out of the water and reveal herself to the world. She kept her gaze on the floor as she shuffled into the locker room, now crowded with stick-figured teenagers.

For two weeks Courtney had been dying to meet someone her own age—but not like this, when she was practically naked and at her worst. These swim-team girls didn’t have an ounce of extra weight on them. They were perfect.

Head lowered, Courtney hurried to her locker.

“You need to shower,” Leta said, stepping up next to her. “I’m finished, so you can use the middle one.”

“I’ll shower once I get home,” Courtney muttered. She grabbed her towel, wrapping it around her as if she were in danger of freezing to death.

“You should take a shower,” her grandmother’s friend continued. “Get that chlorine off you.”

No way would Courtney strip off her swimsuit in the shower, especially now.

She happened to glance up just then and saw two girls with their heads together, whispering. They looked directly at her. Sure as anything, Courtney knew they were talking about her. Turning her back, she buried her face in her hands. One day in the not-too-distant future, she’d see these very girls in the high-school halls.

10
CHAPTER

“To grow as a knitter, don’t be afraid to take chances. Knitting is a far safer sport than sky-diving. Very little is ever irrevocable!”

—Lucy Neatby, Tradewind Knitwear Designs, Inc., www.tradewindknits.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

By Saturday it was all I could do to keep quiet when it came to dealing with Margaret. I was hurt and angry that she’d been so secretive about Matt for all these weeks. Now that I did know, I found myself watching her more closely. The longer she kept up this charade, the more offended I got.

Saturdays were generally my busiest day of the week, but sales tended to slow down toward the end of the month, just before payday.

“Do you have any special plans for the fourth?” I asked Margaret when there was a lull shortly after noon.

“Not really.” She didn’t exhibit a lot of enthusiasm one way or the other. “What about you?”

“Nothing definite yet.” Brad and I hadn’t made any formal plans, but I wanted to suggest we drive to the ocean, have a picnic and watch the fireworks there with Cody and Chase. The last time I visited Ocean Shores, a resort town about three hours away, I’d been a teenager. I remembered that it’d been shortly before they discovered my first brain tumor. The trip was one of the last carefree times I’d had that summer and for years afterward.

“We’ll probably just have a barbecue in the backyard and watch the fireworks on TV,” my sister added.

I stared at her. I couldn’t help it. Seattle had two incredible fireworks displays every year. The first was at Myrtle Edwards Park on the waterfront and the second at Lake Union’s Gas Works Park north of downtown. The fireworks on the lake were timed to patriotic music—a stirring experience and one that always dramatized for me what we were really celebrating.

Margaret lived on Capitol Hill, not far from Blossom Street, which was a perfect location for viewing the Lake Union display. I couldn’t believe that she’d choose to sit in front of her television rather than stand outside her front door.

“What about Julia and Hailey?” I adored my nieces, aged fifteen and ten, respectively. We’d grown even closer in the past year, when my rather tense and complicated relationship with their mother had begun to relax. I used to think Margaret tried to keep the girls away from me out of spite, but in retrospect I understood that she was protecting them. She was afraid of letting her daughters love me too much, for fear I’d get sick again. If I lost my battle with cancer and died, my nieces would be devastated.

Margaret focused on busywork, reorganizing one of the yarn bins. “The girls already have plans.”

“Oh.”

“Julia’s going to Lake Washington with friends and Hailey’s going camping with the neighbors.”

“So it’ll just be you and Matt?”

Margaret shrugged, her back to me. “Looks that way.”

I waited a moment, then decided to say something. I’d drop a hint to see if she responded. “Brad said he ran into Matt recently.”

Turning slowly, Margaret studied me and seemed to be searching for some clue that I’d learned the truth. “Matt didn’t mention it.”

“No need, I suppose,” I said casually.

“Probably not,” my sister agreed.

“Will you invite Mom over?” I asked next. I hated the thought of her spending the holiday alone. We’d somehow gotten through the year without Dad and all the terrible firsts that accompanied the death of a family member. The first Thanksgiving and Christmas were the worst for me, followed by Valentine’s Day and then the Fourth of July.

“I didn’t say anything to her. What about you?” Margaret was hedging, and I could see that she’d rather I dealt with Mom.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” I asked, which was another way of saying I’d be responsible for keeping our mother occupied over the holiday.

“That would be best,” my sister said.

I found it an effort not to point out that it would make more sense for Mom to join Margaret and Matt. A backyard barbecue would be ideal for her and a lot less strenuous than a trip to the ocean, if that was indeed what Brad and I decided to do.

“She’ll have a better time with you,” Margaret murmured apologetically.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “You could have told me, you know,” I said softly, hoping to broach the subject of Matt’s unemployment in a nonconfrontational manner.

“Told you what?”

I couldn’t understand why Margaret continued to maintain the pretense. “That Matt’s been out of a job for months. I’m your sister—you should be able to talk to me.”

Margaret glared at me but didn’t say a word.

“Is it some deep, dark secret you’re ashamed of letting anyone know?” I cried, unable to conceal the pain and anger I felt.

“This is Matt’s business and mine. It’s none of your concern.”

I reached for my knitting and sat down. Knitting is a great tension reliever for me. My hands were moving quickly as I worked on my current project, a sweater I wanted to put on display.

“There isn’t anything I don’t tell you,” I reminded her. The past year I’d shared everything, and I do mean everything, with my sister. I’d confided my fears, my joys, my hopes, my … my soul. My knitting increased in speed, keeping pace with my outrage.

“This is different,” Margaret returned evenly. She picked up her crocheting, jerking it so hard the ball of cotton yarn fell to the floor. Scrambling to pick it up, she tucked it under her arm and started in with the hook, her fingers moving as quickly as mine.

“How’s it different?” I challenged.

“It’s not me, it’s Matt.”

“He told Brad. Your husband felt comfortable enough letting Brad know, but my own sister didn’t tell me.” I felt a sense of betrayal, even more so now that Margaret’s attitude was out in the open. She hadn’t shown the least bit of remorse, although I’d hoped she would admit how much she’d wanted to talk to me. Apparently that had never been the case.

“Who Matt tells is his business.” Margaret’s eyes were focused on her project, a poncho for Julia. Her hand flew as she worked, her concentration fierce.

“Exactly.” I tugged viciously on the ball of yarn, yanking it out of the wicker basket. It went tumbling to the floor.

Margaret scooped up the pretty blue yarn and placed it in my basket, and as she did I noticed that her hands were shaking. I resisted the urge to touch her, to let her know I cared and that I wanted to help if I could. I would’ve done it but I feared her rejection, feared she’d turn away from me again, and I couldn’t have borne that.

“Finding out about Matt’s job explains a lot,” I said, continuing to knit although I knew I’d have to unravel every stitch. I slowed down as I gathered my thoughts. I’d given up paying attention to the pattern and was working the design by memory. Knitting right now wasn’t a good idea because I was bound to make errors, but I needed something to occupy my hands.

“What do you mean, explains a lot?” Margaret echoed, her tone hostile.

“Your attitude at work, with me and with other people.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I wasn’t choosing my words as carefully as I should, but I went on, anyway. “You’ve been prickly and abrupt with the customers.”

“If you don’t want me working here, all you have to do is say so,” Margaret snapped.

“Why does it have to be like this with us?” I pleaded. “I’m your sister.”

“You’re my employer.”

“I’m both, but I’ve never felt it was necessary to draw any lines.” Apparently she did. “I asked you recently if everything was all right and you assured me it was.”

“Like I said, my life is none of your business.”

I blinked back tears. “If that’s how you feel, then fine.”

“Whatever!”

I’d heard my two nieces respond in just that way countless times and always been amused, but I wasn’t now. Stuffing the half-knit sweater back into the wicker basket, I bolted to my feet. “I’m your sister,” I said again. “Isn’t it time you started treating me like one?”

To my absolute horror, Margaret covered her face and burst into tears. I watched her, aghast, hardly knowing what to say.

“Margaret?” I whispered. “What is it?”

My sister whirled away and rushed to the back room.

Despite the two customers who’d just come in, I followed her. Thankfully they didn’t need yarn or attention just then, because I would’ve abandoned them. Margaret was my first priority. Once again risking her rejection, I placed my arm around her. To my surprise, she turned to me and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I wanted to tell you,” she sobbed.

“Why didn’t you?” I didn’t understand it. I was afraid I’d failed her in some way, but had no idea how.

“I … couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could.”

“Matt is feeling wretched…. He always believed he’d retire from Boeing. He’s been with the company all these years.”

“I know,” I said soothingly. “I’m so sorry.”

Margaret straightened and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I was afraid you’d give me that Mary Sunshine routine of yours, and I just couldn’t deal with it.”

“The what routine?”

“You know—your ‘everything will be better in the morning’ speech.”

I stared at her blankly.

“All you need to do is think happy thoughts, and all your problems will go away,” she went on in an insulting saccharine voice.

Sometimes the truth is painful to hear and this was one of those times. Had Margaret come to me a few weeks earlier that is what I would’ve said. Well—not exactly, but something along those lines. Being positive and hopeful, choosing happiness: that was the approach I tried to bring to my life these days. Without intending to, I’d probably sounded glib to Margaret as I burbled on about my own contentment.

“What can I do to help you?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. All I really want you to do is be my sister. I don’t want advice. I don’t want you to worry.” She tried to smile. “I’m doing enough of that for everyone.”

“There must be some way I can help,” I insisted. I was beginning to think I’d already failed on all counts, but I was determined to try.

Margaret’s teary eyes met mine. “You could listen.”

I nodded and we hugged. “Why don’t Brad and I join you on the fourth,” I suggested. “We’ll have a barbecue together.”

Margaret managed a quavery smile. “As you might’ve noticed, I’m not much fun to be around lately.”

“We’ll make the best of it. We’re family.”

Fresh tears filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I hugged her again, grateful we’d talked, and sorry I’d delayed it so long.

11
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise was as ready to see Marvin “Maverick” Beaumont as she could be. He was due to arrive that afternoon. Her daughter had been fussing with the house for days, cooking and cleaning as if she were expecting royalty. All this special attention irritated Elise no end. At any other time and for anyone else, Elise would’ve been just as involved, elbow-deep in the preparations. To be fair, she’d helped some, mostly by keeping the boys entertained so Aurora could do her straightening, vacuuming and polishing.

“Mom,” Aurora cried in a panic, rushing into the spotless living room where Elise was reading to her grandsons. “Where did you put the vanilla?”

Sighing, Elise set aside The Hobbit. “It’s in the cupboard next to the stove, right-hand side.”

“It isn’t there!” More panic.

“Aurora,” Elise said with infinite patience as she made her way into the kitchen. “It’s exactly where I said it was. Look again.” To prove her point, she opened the cupboard, extracted the small bottle of vanilla and handed it to her daughter. “What are you baking?”

“Carrot cake—it’s Dad’s favorite.”

Elise had baked it for Maverick years ago and passed the recipe on to Aurora. As a matter of course, she no longer baked or ate carrot cake because—well, because of the memories. He’d always been so grateful, so loving afterward. Those were the times she most yearned to forget. Over the years, she’d clung to the disappointments and the worry because that made it easier to justify the divorce. But Elise had loved that man, loved him until she was sure she’d lose her mind if she stayed married to him.

“Thanks, Mom,” Aurora said, and held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. Sighing, she added, “I know this is difficult for you.”

“Don’t worry,” Elise said. “I’ll stay out of your father’s way as much as possible. All I ask is that you not try to drag me into this reunion.” The next few weeks would be uncomfortable, but she suspected he’d be just as eager to avoid her.

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Thank you.” With that Elise returned to the living room where Luke and John were wrestling on the newly vacuumed carpet. They’d already knocked over a stack of magazines, which she quickly righted. “Boys, boys,” she cried, clapping her hands. “Settle down.” Her grandsons reluctantly obeyed. John climbed into her lap and settled in the crook of her arm as she reached for the book. At six he wouldn’t do this much longer, and she treasured these special moments.

Predictably, Maverick arrived an hour late with all the fanfare of Hannibal crossing the Alps. Voice booming “Hello,” he came through the front door pulling his suitcase, arms laden with gifts. Luke and John were instantly at his side screeching and leaping up and down, seeking his attention and, of course, the gifts.

It’d been … twenty years since Elise had last seen him. He’d planned to attend Aurora and David’s wedding, but his flight was cancelled because of a winter storm. Elise had always wondered if it was the blizzard or a poker game that had changed his plans. Both Luke and John were born in the middle of important poker tournaments; he’d sent huge floral arrangements at their births, as if that would make up for his absence.

Elise had intended to retreat to her room when he arrived, but she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to look away. Maverick’s red hair was shockingly white now. He had a well-trimmed beard, also white. He’d maintained every inch of his six-foot frame and seemed to be in good health. Elise faltered, resisting the magnetic pull she’d always experienced whenever he was close. She’d learned in the most painful manner that Maverick was not to be trusted, least of all with her heart. Yes, she’d loved this man, perhaps still loved him, but he was wrong for her. That was an undeniable, irrevocable fact, one she didn’t dare ignore.

The next minute, Maverick was hugging both boys and Aurora. He made a production of doling out his gifts, as if it were Christmas morning and he was Santa. The boys dropped to the floor and tore into their packages, while Aurora carried her smaller box into the living room. She sat sideways in the recliner and opened the lid. Elise admitted to being curious, so she lingered in the hallway.

“Oh, Daddy,” Aurora said in a soft voice. Elise watched as her daughter lifted out a single teardrop-shaped black pearl on a long gold chain. “It’s beautiful … just beautiful.” Her voice caught, and looking up at her father with adoration, Aurora whispered, “I’ll treasure it always.”

This was better than any jewelry he’d ever given Elise. Not that it mattered. Seeing how generous he was now, she could tell that Maverick was on a winning streak. Easy come, easy go. And it went with surprising ease, as Elise remembered all too well.

Against her will, she found her gaze drawn to his. Neither spoke for the longest moment. She felt an odd sensation as they stared into each other’s eyes—as if the years had disappeared and they were young again. In his she read such regret that she stepped involuntarily toward him. So time had brought disappointments to him as well as her…. It wasn’t something she’d expected to see.

Maverick broke the silence first. “Hello, Elise,” he said quietly.

She inclined her head toward him, refusing to let him mesmerize her so soon after his arrival. “Marvin.”

He grimaced. “Maverick, please.”

“Maverick, then.” She knew he hated his given name although she’d never understood why. She’d married Marvin, loved Marvin, but he’d never been content to be that man. Instead, he’d sought out glamour and glitz and the instant gratification of a gambling win, and in the process destroyed their lives together.

“I would’ve brought you a gift, but I didn’t think you’d accept one from me.”

“I appreciate the thought, but you’re right. A gift wouldn’t have been appropriate.” That was true, although she couldn’t help wondering what he would have chosen for her.

“You look good,” he said as his gaze slid up and down her trim body.

Despite herself, Elise raised her hand to her hair, as if to check that it was still in place. His compliment flustered her, but she managed to regroup enough to say, “You too.”

“Grandpa, Grandpa, want to see where you’re going to sleep?” Luke asked, tugging at Maverick’s arm.

“I sure do,” he said, suddenly turning away from Elise. He lifted John into his arms as Luke raced ahead, and the three of them moved down the hallway.

“This is our room,” Luke said, opening the first door on the right.

“And that’s Grandma’s room.” John pointed to Elise’s, which was almost directly across from it.

“And that’s the bathroom for the boys.” Luke hurried over to the third doorway.

“Grandma has her own bathroom, and we’re not supposed to use it no matter how bad we have to go,” John explained. “Mom said.”

Maverick chuckled.

“Grandpa, Grandpa, you know that dangling thing in the back of your throat? Did you know if you pull on it you barf?”

“John Peter Tully, what a thing to say,” Elise chastised, but stopped when Maverick threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. Leave it to a man to find the topic of vomit amusing.

“You get to sleep on the bottom bunk, and Luke and me are gonna share the other one,” John explained and dove onto the mattress. “Mom changed the sheets.”

“That’s ‘cause John still wets the bed.”

“Do not,” John screamed, leaping off the bed and swinging wildly at his older brother.

Elise started to move into the room to break up the fight, but Maverick quickly took control, pulling the boys apart. He immediately got them involved in showing him the rest of the house. Seeing that she wasn’t needed, Elise retreated to the security of her own bedroom.

Forty-five minutes later, she sat with her feet up, watching television and knitting. Her mind wasn’t on the news, but on her family; she felt irritated that she’d allowed Maverick to isolate her from those she loved most.

Someone knocked politely at her door and Aurora stuck her head inside. “I hoped you’d join us for dinner,” she said with a pleading look. “David made a point of being home early tonight, and it would mean a great deal to me.”

Elise would rather avoid this “welcome” dinner, but there was little she could refuse her daughter, who’d been so wonderful to her throughout this legal mess. “All right.”

“Thank you.” Gratitude glistened in Aurora’s eyes.

To the best of Elise’s memory, this was the first time Aurora had shared a meal with both parents at the same table. That was a sad commentary and, for her daughter’s sake, Elise wished her marriage had ended differently. She didn’t consider herself an emotional woman, but she found Aurora’s happiness at something so simple poignant enough to bring her to tears.

When Elise finally entered the dining room, David had arrived home from the office and was pouring wine for the adults. Elise had a good relationship with David; as far as she was concerned, he was a model husband. She would be forever grateful that Aurora, unlike her, had had the sense to marry a decent, reliable man who actually worked at a real job.

Aurora was still bustling about the kitchen and Elise joined her. While David and Maverick chatted, drinking their wine, the women carried the salad, sliced roast, mashed potatoes and gravy to the table.

“It’s a feast,” Luke announced grandly.

“Just like Thanksgiving, except without the turkey,” redheaded John added, dragging his chair closer to the table. “I get to sit next to Grandpa.”

“Me too,” Luke insisted, and it seemed the boys were on the verge of breaking into another fight. Once more Maverick smoothly ended the conflict by promising to sit between them.

Despite Elise’s worries, dinner was a pleasant affair. Maverick entertained them with tales of his travels. He’d been all over the world, from Alaska to Argentina, from Paris to Polynesia, touring the places Elise had only read about in books. One day she’d see them, too, she told herself, but the likelihood of that dimmed with every message from her attorney.

Before dessert was served, Elise arranged the dishes in the dishwasher and made the coffee. As soon as she could, she’d return to her room and her knitting. Knowing Aurora would want to spend time with her father and husband, she carried the coffeepot to the living room, where the others lingered.

“Come on, boys,” she said to her grandsons. “I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

This elicited the usual whines and groans.

Elise had expected that. “I’ll read you another chapter from The Hobbit.”

The whines dwindled somewhat.

“Let me read to them, Elise,” Maverick offered.

Elise was perfectly happy to let him assume the task but felt she should warn him. Once she started reading, it was difficult to stop. The boys wanted to hear more and more. They always bombarded her with “Another chapter, Grandma,” or “Please, just to the end of the page.” They begged and pleaded, and she could never say no. It was sometimes a full hour before she turned off the lights. Still, she took satisfaction in knowing that her grandsons had learned to associate reading with pleasure and hoped that books would remain as important to them as they’d always been to her.

“Elise?” Maverick asked again.

“By all means.” She left the small party and hurried to her room. With one ear on the television and the other focused on the room across the hall, she waited for the sure-to-follow battle, grinning wickedly to herself. Maverick was learning a valuable lesson about being a grandparent.

When she didn’t hear any squabbling, she lowered the volume on her television.

Nothing.

Frowning, she rose and opened the door a crack. She heard Maverick’s rich baritone voice as he read animatedly and with emotion. He was good; she’d give him that. There wasn’t a sound from the youngsters. No doubt they were enthralled by the reading as much as the story.

In spite of what Aurora thought, Elise wanted her daughter to have a good relationship with her father. True, her feelings on the subject were mixed. Although Maverick had promptly paid child support and always kept in touch, he’d made no effort to be a constant part of their daughter’s life. She didn’t understand why he’d decided it was so important to make contact now.

Elise returned to her rocking chair and twenty minutes later she checked again, her ear at the door. When someone knocked, she nearly leaped out of her skin. With one hand over her startled heart, she opened the door to discover Maverick standing in the hallway.

She gasped. “The boys?” she managed to utter, expecting him to ask her advice on how to coax them to sleep.

“Out like the proverbial light,” he said with a shrug.

Impossible! Luke and John didn’t go down without a fight. It was part of their nightly ritual. She realized she was frowning again.

Maverick’s mouth twitched with a smile. “I read them one chapter and John wanted a second.”

She nodded. That was their usual pattern.

“The kid’s got a real dramatic streak,” he said.

Elise forced back a smile.

“He said ‘Grandpa, I beg of you, I beg of you.’”

“Did you give in?”

“Yes—but I made them promise they’d go right down, and they did.”

“Count your blessings.”

For a moment she was lost in him. Then, with a jolt of dismay, she recognized what she was doing. Resolutely, she lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “Was there something you wanted?”

He hesitated, and she could see he was stifling a grin. He’d always been able to see straight through her. “Just to tell you good-night and that I enjoyed being with you again.”

Elise wanted to groan. How was it that a man she’d been divorced from for more than thirty-seven years still had power over her? She loathed her own weakness, loathed her inability to forget how much she’d loved him. “Th-ank you,” she managed, stumbling over the words.

To her astonishment, Maverick pressed his hand to her cheek, his touch soft. His blue eyes brightened with intensity. Elise’s knees felt as if they were about to buckle and her mouth fell open.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

Her heart hammering inside her chest, Elise stepped back, breaking the contact. Otherwise she didn’t know what she might have done …

“Good night,” she whispered and while she had the strength, she closed the door. Old feelings, it seemed, died hard. She reminded herself that she couldn’t relax her vigilance with this gambler she’d once married. Not for a minute. Not for even a second.

12
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne’s meeting with Grant had been a week ago, and she was still so angry that she hadn’t slept an entire night since. The selfish bastard wasn’t willing to spend three hundred dollars on his son. Bethanne knew the reason. Grant didn’t have the courage to say it, but she knew.

This was payback. When Grant moved out of the house and in with Tiffany, their then-sixteen-year-old son had confronted his father and told him exactly what he thought of Grant’s behavior. Grant hadn’t taken kindly to Andrew’s honesty, and their relationship had been strained ever since.

“You okay, Mom?” Annie asked, entering the kitchen.

“Fine,” she snapped, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Annie flopped down at the kitchen table beside Bethanne, who sat there with a cup of tea. “Thinking about Dad?”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “He’s been on my mind lately.”

“Mine too,” Annie admitted. “I can’t believe he’s still with her.”

Annie never mentioned Tiffany’s name. She was always her or the bitch. Her daughter’s own relationship with Grant was confused. Annie loved her father and had been close to him, and longed to be close once again, but she felt hurt and betrayed. She was also unsure where she stood with him. Grant gave her the minimum of attention and expected Annie to be the one to call him, which she did on occasion. But the brunt of her daughter’s anger was directed toward Tiffany because Annie believed the other woman had stolen Grant from his family. Bethanne didn’t take that anger lightly, especially after flipping through Annie’s journal, but she didn’t know what to do about it, either. She prayed that eventually her daughter’s bitterness would fade.

It was times like this that she missed her mother most. Martha Gibson had died suddenly of an aneurysm the year Annie was born, and Bethanne’s father had declined physically and emotionally after that. He lived in a retirement community in Arizona, but it was up to her to maintain contact.

“I think they might be getting married,” Annie murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Is that so?” Bethanne tried not to reveal any interest, but her head was spinning. If anyone in the family was likely to learn of Grant’s wedding plans, it would be her daughter. He might not talk to Annie much, but he talked to her more than to Andrew or Bethanne. Married. That explained why her ex had turned into such a miser. She’d bet every penny left in her bank account that he was buying Tiffany a huge diamond and planning the honeymoon. At least Tiffany was getting one; Bethanne never had. Grant and Bethanne got married while in college, and there’d been money for no more than a wedding night in a three-star hotel on the Oregon coast. Monday morning they were both back in school.

“I hate her, Mom. I know you said I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. If it wasn’t for her, Dad would be with us and everything would be like it used to be.” Annie’s voice cracked with the intensity of her emotions.

“I know,” Bethanne whispered, fighting her own anger, “but if it wasn’t her, it probably would’ve been someone else.” This insight had been a small epiphany for Bethanne during the divorce proceedings. Her attorney had been going over the settlement, and it was all Bethanne could do to concentrate when the truth suddenly dawned on her. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been a good wife and a good mother. She’d remained faithful and loving. Not once in the entire twenty years of her marriage had she even considered cheating on Grant. Her whole life had been about family. Without resentment or complaint, she’d cooked her husband’s meals, cleaned his home and raised his children. She’d been a hostess for his parties, which were legendary.

Their huge Christmas, Super Bowl and Fourth of July parties, in particular, had been favorites with their friends, and Grant had loved playing host. It didn’t matter that she’d done all the work, they were a team.

No, she wasn’t to blame for the mess he’d made of their lives and she refused to accept the guilt. Sitting in her attorney’s office that day, she’d recognized Grant’s actions for what they were. Blaming her was Grant’s way of justifying his lack of loyalty and fidelity, his failure as a husband and father. It obviously assuaged the guilt he was unwilling to feel. For a time she’d assumed that responsibility, certain she must be the one who’d failed. He wanted her to think she’d become so wrapped up in the children’s lives she’d abandoned him. She hadn’t, and she wouldn’t listen to those cruel voices in the back of her head ever again. Voices that echoed his …

“Mom, Mom,” Annie said, reaching across the table to touch Bethanne’s forearm. “You’re spacing out on me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“How was the sock class?” Annie asked, apparently trying to turn Bethanne’s mind in another direction, away from the darkness that had overtaken her.

“Really great.” The second class had gone much better than the first. They’d no sooner sat down at the table than Elise apologized for what she called her “crankiness” the week before. She explained that she’d received bad news and hadn’t had time to digest it before the class. She was very sorry if she’d offended anyone.

Bethanne had her own confession to make. She told the others why she’d been tense the week before—that she’d been hoping to get out of the class because she regretted having spent the money. She no longer felt that way. She was still worried about finances, but Annie was right; she needed something for herself. Something completely unrelated to everything else in her life.

Even Courtney seemed to be in a better mood. She’d announced proudly that she’d lost two pounds. At first Bethanne thought the teenager meant she’d lost the weight knitting, which seemed peculiar, but then she realized Courtney was saying that knitting had kept her out of the kitchen.

The two-hour class had sped by, and Bethanne felt wonderful afterward, grateful she hadn’t dropped out. She’d made progress on her socks—or the first one, anyway—and had truly enjoyed the companionship of the other women.

“I knew you’d like it.” Annie’s eyes flashed with triumph.

The phone rang and her daughter leaped up in her rush to answer. “Hello.”

Annie’s eyes zeroed in on Bethanne.

“Yes, she’s here.” She held the phone against her stomach. “It’s for you.” She hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a man.”

Bethanne rolled her eyes. “It’s probably the guy at the bank, phoning to tell me I’ve overdrawn the checking account again.” She’d already done that twice, and it was embarrassing in the extreme.

Annie brought her the phone.

“This is Bethanne Hamlin,” she said, trying to sound brisk and professional. According to the check register, she should have at least fifty dollars in that account, but she hadn’t gotten it to balance since she’d opened it. Math had never been one of her strengths.

“Bethanne, this is Paul Ormond.”

She felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs. Paul was Tiffany’s ex-husband. Tiffany had filed for a divorce at the same time as Grant. Apparently they’d coordinated when to file, and she could imagine the two of them traipsing down to the courthouse, giggling and holding hands. Paul and Bethanne had been the spouses left behind to deal with the emotional devastation of the affair and its aftermath.

“Hello, Paul,” she said with difficulty. She’d met him only once, briefly, but she’d considered calling him a couple of times. She’d wanted to ask if he’d known about the affair before his wife told him. Had Tiffany done it on Valentine’s Day, like Grant? In the end, Bethanne hadn’t bothered.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Paul said.

“Sure. I mean, that would be fine,” she said awkwardly.

Her answer was met with silence.

“Do you mean now?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “How about later this afternoon? After five?”

“Okay.” Her social calendar was empty. This had been a shock to Bethanne. Her friends had rallied around her and supported her through the divorce, but they no longer invited her to socialize with them. Most events in their circle were geared to couples, and as a newly single woman—an unwillingly single woman—she’d become an outcast. Besides, she suspected Tiffany had taken her place at some of those dinners and parties. Just when she most needed her friends, they’d disappeared.

“Would you be willing to have dinner with me? My treat.” He sounded hesitant, as if he expected her to decline.

“That would be nice,” she said impulsively. “Where would you like to meet?”

“Anthony’s, say around six. I’ll make the reservation.”

The waterfront restaurant wasn’t far from Pike Place Market and was well known in the area as one of the top seafood places.

Bethanne thanked him and ended the call, both puzzled and pleased. This wasn’t a date, but it was as close to one as she’d come in the last twenty-two years.

“Who was that?” Annie asked when Bethanne replaced the receiver.

For some reason, Bethanne was reluctant to explain. “An old friend,” she finally said.

“He wants to take you out?” Annie asked, as if this were beyond imagining.

“Do you think I shouldn’t go?” Bethanne instantly assumed she’d made a mistake in agreeing to meet Paul.

Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. Why ask me? Who’s the adult here, anyway?”

“You’re right,” Bethanne said. “I’m the adult and I’m meeting … an old friend.”

When it was time to leave, both Annie and Andrew were gone for the evening, so Bethanne propped a note for them on the kitchen counter, the way they did for her.

She had to find parking downtown, because she couldn’t afford the lot prices. Fortunately, she located a place three short blocks from the restaurant. When she walked toward Anthony’s, Paul Ormond was already there, standing outside waiting. He waved at her as she approached.

Paul was around thirty-five, she guessed, with dark hair and eyes, a pleasant face and a bit of a paunch. If she remembered correctly, he worked in the downtown area for an international shipping firm. He wore a suit and tie. Bethanne was surprised that the lovely Tiffany would have married such an ordinary-looking man. The impression she had of “Tiff” was of a status-conscious woman, to whom a husband’s appearance would be almost as important as her own.

“Thank you for coming,” Paul said as he opened the door to the restaurant. When he stepped forward and announced his name to the hostess, they were immediately seated.

They both ordered a glass of wine and Paul stared out the window at Puget Sound. “I imagine you’re wondering why I called you,” he said after several minutes of silence. Oddly, Bethanne didn’t feel uncomfortable, nor did she feel her usual urge to make small talk.

She nodded. “I was kind of curious. The divorces have been final for quite a while now.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “I—” She started to tell Paul that Grant had refused to pay for Andrew’s football camp. It didn’t matter, she had to remind herself. It just didn’t matter.

“When did you find out about the affair?” he asked.

She was embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Not until Grant told me. You know how they say the wife’s always the last to know. What about you?”

“I knew almost from the first,” he said, “but I couldn’t make myself believe it.”

“How long were you and Tiffany married?”

“Six years,” he said. “Four good ones, at any rate. Then she met Grant.” He shook his head. “I think I guessed what was going on when she wanted to delay having a family.”

Bethanne knew from what Grant had told her that there were no other children involved. The whole thing was bad enough without hurting more innocents.

She took a sip from her glass of chardonnay, then another. “Annie told me this afternoon she thinks they’re getting married.”

Paul arched his eyebrows. “I suppose that’s inevitable.”

Although her appetite had vanished with talk of the affair, Bethanne opened the menu. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it,” she whispered.

“Please don’t say that,” Paul begged. “I was hoping, you know, that everything was better for you.”

“It is better,” she said valiantly, “it’s just that … I don’t feel it yet.” If being alone hurt this badly all these months after the divorce, she couldn’t imagine that pain would ever go away.

“Your husband and my wife were cheating on us,” he said with sudden anger. “So, why are we the ones feeling bad?”

It wasn’t fair. She was the injured party; Paul, too. While Grant and Tiffany were free of their responsibilities and probably partying every night, Bethanne was dealing with children whose security had been shattered, an aging house and more emotional pain than any one person should be expected to bear.

“I told myself they have to live with what they’ve done,” Paul said, “but that’s little comfort.”

“It’s no comfort.”

Paul opened his menu, too. “I was thinking—”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about the divorce?” Bethanne asked abruptly. “We’re supposed to be getting on with our lives. Let’s order dinner, okay?”

Paul nodded. “Have you decided what you want?”

“Just an appetizer. The smoked salmon, I think. And maybe a cup of chowder.”

He called over the waiter and they placed their orders, with Paul choosing the chowder and a small dish of seafood pasta. “So, are you?” he asked. “Getting on with your life, I mean.”

“I’m really trying.”

“How?” he asked, and at her startled look, he added, “The reason I want to know is that I need help. I guess I was hoping you were doing better than I am and might have some words of wisdom to share.”

“I … I joined a knitting class.”

Paul grinned, and when he smiled he was almost boyishly handsome. “That’s more of a women’s thing, I think.”

“Plenty of men knit, too.”

“They do?”

She shrugged. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve taken up golf, but so far I don’t show any real knack for it.”

Another silence, as they concentrated on their chowder, which had just been delivered. They both murmured appreciatively. It truly was delicious, and Bethanne found herself automatically deconstructing the ingredients, the way she used to when she was married and always searching for new recipes. Unexpectedly, that made her feel better, not worse, as if she’d recovered a small part of the woman she used to be.

She tried her smoked salmon. Good, but she wouldn’t have served it with the curried mayonnaise. Too many strong flavors.

Time to wade back into the conversational waters. “Have you started dating again?” she asked.

He shook his head. “What about you?”

Smiling, she pointed to him. “You’re my first dinner date in twenty-two years.”

“You’re my first date in seven.”

“Is that cause for celebration?”

Paul chuckled. “I think it is.” With that he gestured to the waiter and they ordered a second glass of wine.

Paul might not be the most attractive man she’d ever met, especially compared to Grant, but Bethanne was struck by how genuine he was, how generous and caring. Even though he was in as much pain as she was, he’d told her he was sorry that his wife had been the one to break up her family.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, as they walked out of the restaurant.

Bethanne had only one burning need. A job. “Do you know anyone who’d be willing to hire me?”

“For what?”

She sighed. “At this point, I’d do just about anything.”

“Do you have computer skills?”

“Well …” The truth was, she didn’t. Bethanne knew her way around the Internet, but mostly because her kids had shown her. She could manage basic word processing programs, but anything beyond that and she was at a loss.

“Maybe you should get some training,” Paul suggested.

He was right, but she hated the thought of it. This adjustment, trying to find employment after so many years out of the job market, was almost as difficult as the divorce.

Paul insisted on walking her to where she’d parked her car. “I had a good time tonight, Bethanne, thank you.”

“Thank you.” They exchanged handshakes. “If you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call.”

He perked up. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not in the least.”

Bethanne listened to the radio on the drive home. It was almost ten by the time she pulled into the driveway. She hadn’t even made it to the house before the front door was thrown open and her children stood in the entrance glaring at her.

“Just exactly where were you?” Annie demanded.

“We were worried sick,” Andrew said.

Bethanne stared back at them in complete shock. “I beg your pardon? Annie, I told you I was seeing an old friend.”

“But you didn’t say you were going to be this late!” Annie cried in disgust.

“We talked and … and the time flew,” Bethanne answered before she thought better of it.

“I can’t believe you’d do this,” Andrew muttered.

“What?”

“After everything you’ve said to us about knowing where we are and who we’re with.” Andrew shook his head.

“This is totally bogus,” Annie muttered.

“Could you please let me in?” As they moved aside, she said, “I left you a note.”

“I know, but you didn’t give us the guy’s name or tell us where you went. I’m not sure about this, Mom,” Andrew tried to explain. “It just doesn’t seem right that my mother’s the one on a date.”

“It shouldn’t be such a big deal,” Annie said, speaking more thoughtfully now. “But it doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t for me either,” Bethanne agreed. “However, this is my new reality.” For the first time, she could say those hated words without flinching.

“So we should get used to it?” Andrew asked.

Bethanne nodded. Her children had nothing to worry about; she was their rock, their security. Their mother. That wouldn’t change no matter what their father did.

13
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

If Courtney could trust her grandmother’s antique scale, it showed that she’d lost four pounds. Five if she balanced on one foot and stared straight down at the dial. This was the first time in months that she’d managed to stay on any formal eating program. She felt good, really good.

The exercising helped, she was sure of it. Her sister had e-mailed and suggested a low-carb diet, but Courtney preferred to make up one of her own. It was a very simple concept: she didn’t eat anything that started with the letter P. That included pasta, peanut butter, pizza, popcorn and just about everything else she’d craved in the last four years.

She routinely heard from Julianna, who e-mailed her from Alaska every day. Julianna’s stories about life at the summer lodge—her coworkers, the guests, the wildlife—were endlessly entertaining. Jason sent her encouraging messages once or twice a week, and Courtney was grateful for them. She wrote both Jason and Julianna long e-mails in exchange. She hadn’t mentioned her P diet but she boasted proudly, at least to her sister, about each pound lost.

Her father was in regular contact, too. This job in Brazil demanded a lot of his time, but she could tell he was trying hard to be there for her. She loved him for it. Now that she’d finished feeling sorry for herself, she realized how difficult this situation was for him. He desperately missed his children and talked constantly about when he’d return home. This year was destined to be the longest of all their lives.

The only problem with living in Seattle was that Courtney still hadn’t met anyone her age. After that one disaster, when she’d run into all those sleek-bodied girls from the swim team, she’d avoided the pool on Mondays and Wednesdays—which was when the team practiced.

She swam laps three mornings a week and biked on the other days. She’d even biked to her last knitting class, although her grandmother was convinced it wasn’t safe to ride a bicycle in Seattle traffic. It hadn’t been easy to go the full three miles, and she’d felt justified in congratulating herself. Riding a bike up the steep Seattle hills was a challenge. She figured Lance Armstrong would’ve been out of breath, too. At one point she’d had to stop, climb off her bike and walk when it became too much for her. Her new goal was to make it all the way up Capitol Hill without stopping. That would take practice, but she knew she’d eventually manage it.

“Are you going out again?” her grandmother asked when Courtney bounced down the stairs. She had on her shorts and T-shirt and held her helmet by the straps.

“I won’t be long, Grams.” Last week Grandma had gotten shortened to Grams. She’d decided that Grandma seemed kind of juvenile; besides, it was just too much of a mouthful.

“You be careful,” Vera cried, glancing away from the television screen long enough to warn her.

“I will, I promise.”

“When will you be back?”

Courtney glanced at her watch. “Give me an hour, okay?”

Grams didn’t answer and Courtney suspected she hadn’t heard her, which was often the case. Placing the helmet on her head and donning her gloves, Courtney went out to the garage, where she kept her bicycle.

She was on the ten-speed and wheeling along at a fast clip, the wind in her face, when she noticed a familiar figure in the parking lot of the Safeway grocery store. Bethanne saw her at the same time and raised her hand in greeting. Courtney would’ve biked past with only a wave but Bethanne called her over.

Courtney rode into the lot and approached Bethanne, who had obviously been shopping. A good-looking young man with broad shoulders and short dark hair had pushed her cart next to her car, ready to load the groceries.

“Hi,” Courtney said, a bit winded. She reached for her water bottle and took a swig.

“Courtney, I want to introduce you to my son, Andrew. He works here part-time—as you can see.” She gestured at his employee vest with its store logo.

At the last class she’d mentioned her children but Courtney hadn’t paid that much attention. Bethanne had two, she remembered—a boy and a girl.

“Hi,” Andrew said without any real enthusiasm.

“Hi.” Great, she would meet him when she was all sweaty and hot and wearing shorts. She preferred to keep her legs covered and did most of the time.

“Courtney’s in my knitting class,” Bethanne explained to her son. “She’s the girl I told you about the other day. She’ll be starting her senior year at Washington High this September.” She turned to Courtney and added, “Andrew will be a senior, too.”

“At Washington?”

He nodded.

“Didn’t you say you had an extra ticket to the Mariners’ game this evening?” Bethanne asked her son, and then before he even had a chance to answer, she said, “You should invite Courtney. She hasn’t met many kids here, and it would be a great way for her to get to know your friends.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Courtney rushed to tell him, embarrassed that Bethanne had put her son in such an awkward position.

“You want to come?” Andrew asked her.

“I guess.” Although she sounded like it was no big deal, it was. Inside she was doing cartwheels but she dared not let it show.

“You’ll pick her up, won’t you?” Bethanne said.

“If I can have the car.” From his tone, taking the car had been a contentious issue.

Bethanne grinned. “All right, all right, you can have the car.”

Andrew got Courtney’s address and phone number, and promised to call later in the afternoon once he was off work.

Courtney was so excited she couldn’t bike home fast enough. Andrew was totally cool and cute and just the kind of guy she’d hoped to meet. The game was hours away but she had a thousand things to do first.

By the time Courtney got back to the house, her grandmother had lunch on the table. She grabbed an apple, bit off a huge chunk and raced up the stairs.

“Hey,” Grams shouted after her, “where are you headed?”

“I met someone. Bethanne’s son.” When Vera looked a little puzzled, she added, “Bethanne? From the knitting class?” Courtney took a deep breath. “I’m going to the Mariners’ game this evening.”

“That isn’t for hours yet.”

“I know,” she yelled from the top of the stairs, “but I need to shower and everything. Oh Grams, what should I wear?” Silly question. Grams was sweet, but she knew next to nothing about fashion. “Never mind,” Courtney said, “I’ll figure it out.”

After her shower, Courtney changed clothes about fifteen times, weighing herself with each outfit and then doing a complete and thorough evaluation in front of the mirror. In the end she decided on jeans and a white tank-top with a yellow flowered overshirt. She weighed more in this outfit than one of the others, but the yellow shirt made her eyes darker and set off her dark-brown hair. It was her best choice.

Andrew phoned at five and said he’d be by in thirty minutes to pick her up for the six o’clock game. Courtney didn’t want to appear too eager by waiting outside, but she didn’t want him to have to come inside and get her, either. This wasn’t like a date or anything. She compromised by watching for him out the living room window. As soon as he pulled up in front, she kissed her grandmother on the cheek and dashed out the door.

“Have a good time,” Grams called after her.

“I will.” This was so much better than sitting in her room or surfing the Internet for hours. And television in the summer was just plain bad.

Andrew leaned over and opened the passenger door for her. “Hi,” he said, again without a lot of enthusiasm.

“Hi! Thanks for including me.”

Courtney was already in the front seat before she realized someone else was in the car. “Hi,” she said, twisting around as she grabbed the seat belt.

“That’s Annie, my sister. She’ll be a junior this year. Annie, Courtney.”

Courtney’s automatic smile faded as she recognized Andrew’s sister. Annie was the girl from the swim team who’d been staring at Courtney and whispering with her friend. All she could do was hope that Annie didn’t recognize her with her clothes on. Apparently she didn’t, because she made no reference to that day at the pool.

“Andrew and Mom forced me into going to this game with him,” the girl muttered.

That was in case Courtney assumed Annie had joined them for the fun of it, she suspected.

“How long have you been in Seattle?” Andrew asked after casting his sister a hard look.

“A couple of weeks. I’m living with my grandmother.” Courtney talked about her dad’s work situation for a few minutes, and the importance of this Brazilian bridge. She said her brother was in graduate school and her sister in college and working in Alaska for the summer. She told them that she’d hated to leave Chicago and her friends. She was sure she’d given them more information than they wanted, but it was just so good to be with her own kind.

“Are your parents divorced?” Annie asked from the backseat.

Courtney went still. “My mom died in a car accident four years ago.”

“Bummer,” Andrew said sympathetically.

“Yeah.” All of a sudden, she didn’t have anything more to say and Andrew and Annie didn’t, either. The silence in the car seemed to vibrate.

“I wish Dad had died.” Annie spoke in a low voice.

“Don’t say that,” Andrew barked.

“I mean it!” Her anger was explosive.

“Our parents were recently divorced, but I suppose Mom mentioned that,” Andrew said by way of explanation.

“Just in the first class.” The other thing Courtney knew was that Bethanne needed to find a job.

“Our father’s a jerk!” Annie said in a near-shout.

“My sister didn’t take it well,” Andrew added under his breath.

“I can hear you,” Annie snorted from the backseat.

They parked on a side street and climbed out of the car. Annie stared at her and Courtney held her breath, praying the other girl had forgetten where she’d seen her. No such luck.

“I know you,” Annie said, eyeing her.

Courtney’s heart fell. “Maybe you saw me when your mother came to knitting class,” she suggested hopefully, but a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to go away.

“I know,” Annie said triumphantly. “You were at the swimming pool, weren’t you? The early-morning session with all the old ladies.” Then she leaned close and said in a loud stage whisper, “You don’t need to worry about running into me again. I quit the team last week. Mom doesn’t know yet and Andrew won’t tell her because we have a deal.”

Andrew’s gaze narrowed on his sister.

“He wanted to be sure I came along when he took you to the game,” Annie gleefully reported. “He was afraid his girlfriend would find out.”

“Shut up, would you,” Andrew snapped at Annie. He threw Courtney an apologetic glance.

“It’s not a problem,” she assured him, and it wasn’t.

14
CHAPTER

“There’s magic in pulling loops through loops, whether between the limbs of a knitted tree house, or shaped to fit the geography of a foot.”

—Cat Bordhi, author of Socks Soar on Two Circular Needles, A Treasury of Magical Knitting & Second Treasury of Magical Knitting. www.catbordhi.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I could hardly wait for Brad to make his neighborhood deliveries and come to the store. I’ve read my share of romance novels, so I can say with authority that if ever there was a romantic hero, it’s Brad. Because I’ve lived with cancer from the time I was sixteen, I’ve been absorbed by threats and fears. But despite my terrible scare last year, my life had never been better and for someone like me that’s a little frightening—as though feeling confident and happy is testing fate, somehow.

I think I mentioned that Dr. Wilson found something on a routine checkup and I was convinced the cancer was back. My attitude was fatalistic. It was during this time that I broke up with Brad. Without giving him a reason, I shoved him out of my life with the flimsiest of excuses. He didn’t walk away easily. I loved how he fought for me, how he stood by me until I made it too painful for him to stay. Then, naturally, I learned I was fine, but at that point, I couldn’t blame Brad for not wanting anything more to do with me. Thankfully he was willing to listen when I came to my senses. Once again, I had Margaret to thank; without her encouragement I don’t know what would’ve happened. That was all in the past now, and I felt so grateful to have Brad in my life.

On the phone the night before, he and I had talked about our Fourth of July plans. He wanted to wait until he saw me before we confirmed the barbecue at Margaret and Matt’s. I always get as excited as a kid about this holiday. Mostly I was looking forward to being with Brad and Cody—and away from work, because I could use the break.

The shop had been so busy lately, which was good but physically draining. I was on my feet a solid eight hours every day. Margaret did as much as she could, but she was preoccupied with the situation at home and hadn’t been as much help. She tried, though, and I was doing my best to be supportive and understanding.

My Friday knitting sessions were consistently productive; Jacqueline, in particular, came every week and spent hours knitting squares for Warm Up America. Granted, she had the most free time, since Alix was working and Carol was staying home with little Cameron. Still, Jacqueline’s generosity with her time and money impressed me.

Then there was my sock class. The women were an interesting mix and I was getting to know them. They were loosening up a bit, and that was a good sign. I love the way knitting brings people together. As diverse as these women seemed to be, in personality, in background and in age, they were beginning to enjoy each other’s company. The class got off to a difficult start because Elise was so short-tempered that first day, but her apology went a long way toward smoothing things over and I was grateful. The tone of the class was set by Elise, I noticed. She’s a natural leader, and while I wish I could’ve been the one dictating mood, I wasn’t.

Just after ten, I saw Brad’s truck in front of the shop. I waited for him to stroll through the door and address me as “Beautiful.” It’s part one of our private ritual—which then moves into my office for part two, a little kissing and caressing. I preferred to do that away from Margaret’s interested eye.

Not that it mattered. She was late—again. It had become almost normal for her to show up thirty minutes after I opened for the day. I didn’t want to nag her but I found it irritating that she’d grown so slack about her responsibilities. Eventually I’d need to speak to her about it, but now wasn’t the time.

The bell over the door chimed and I relaxed. Everything was better when I could spend a few minutes alone with Brad.

“Hi,” he said, wheeling the boxes of new yarn toward me.

“Hey, what happened to ‘Morning, Beautiful’?” I teased. “Did I sprout big ears overnight or something?”

“Or something,” he murmured.

“Brad? Is everything all right?” He wasn’t his usual cheerful self, and that had me worried. I could see everything wasn’t all right; I didn’t really need to ask. The way he refused to look at me was answer enough.

“Everything’s fine—I think.” But he hesitated.

“Is it Cody?” I asked, immediately concerned.

“No, no, Cody’s fine.”

I love Brad’s son. Every now and then, Cody would slip and call me Mom, and I loved the sound of it. If things went as I hoped, I’d soon be his stepmother.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I insisted.

“It’d be best if we talked later,” he said.

“About what?” I wasn’t going to let him walk out the door without explaining.

Brad heaved a sigh and seemed to wish he was anyplace in the world but my yarn store. We’d been involved with each other for a year, and in all that time I’d never seen him like this.

“Forget this later business. Just tell me,” I said again.

“I can’t be with you on the Fourth,” he blurted out.

My disappointment was sharp, but I tried to hide it. “Oh. Any particular reason?”

He seemed to pretend he hadn’t heard me and unloaded the dolly, stacking the boxes next to the cash register. Out of habit I signed my name on his automated clipboard.

“Brad,” I said urgently. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

He straightened, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more serious or less sure of himself. “You’d better sit down.”

“No.” I adamantly refused. “I’ll stand. Just say what you have to say.” I could feel a numbing sensation starting in my feet and working its way up my ankles and calves. I think it was then that I knew. I could almost predict what was coming. I’ve had this kind of conversation twice before; both times, the men who’d claimed to love me decided it was over. Back then, I didn’t blame either of them. Loving me was a bad bet, since my prognosis wasn’t all that good. Twice, I’d faced the possibility of death, and I couldn’t expect them to face it with me. But now …

Brad rubbed his hand down his thigh and swallowed hard. “I can’t be with you on the Fourth because Cody and I will be with Janice.”

I barely had a chance to digest this before he muttered, “Janice phoned a couple of days ago and asked if we could talk.”

I knew Brad had worked hard to maintain a good relationship with his ex-wife. The breakup of their marriage had been her idea, and she’d been perfectly content to let Brad retain custody of their son.

“So you and Janice talked?” I asked when he wasn’t forthcoming with details. “Apparently she had a great deal to say.” From the tightness around his eyes and mouth, this appeared to be an understatement.

Brad’s shoulders rose in a deep sigh. “She’s done a lot of thinking in the last few months and realizes she made a mistake when she left Cody and me.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

Brad didn’t answer right away. “She wants another chance.”

I laughed, hardly able to believe Brad would seriously consider taking back his ex. “I’d say that’s mighty convenient, wouldn’t you?” I recognized instantly what was happening, even if Brad didn’t.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his gaze flying to mine.

“Did you happen to mention that you’ve asked me to marry you?” I couldn’t feel anything other than cynical about this. Of course Janice wanted him back! She was about to lose him for good.

Brad shook his head, but my guess was that Cody had told his mother about our plans to be married. “She knows,” I told him, “and she doesn’t like it. She’s toying with you. Now that we’re talking marriage, she can’t stand the thought of you and Cody with anyone else.” Even if Janice didn’t want to be married to Brad, she didn’t want me or any other woman to have him, either.

Brad motioned helplessly with his hands. “She seemed sincere and genuinely regretful. If it was an act, then she should get an Oscar nomination.”

Naturally Brad wanted to believe that; his ego required it. Any man’s would. “Well,” I said, confused about what this meant for Brad and me. He didn’t seem to know himself. “Are you saying you don’t love me and that you were just killing time until Janice came to her senses?”

“Of course not!” he asserted.

“Do you love her?” I asked.

“No,” was his immediate reply, followed by a brief pause. “I loved Janice when we were married and I still loved her when she walked out on me. But I don’t anymore—my feelings for her are gone. The truth is, she’s Cody’s mother and my son needs her.”

“What exactly does that mean for us?”

He shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “I don’t know.”

“It looks like you’re about to retract the proposal,” I said, striving for a bit of humor, “and if that’s the case, you’ll have one hell of a fight on your hands, fellow.”

He almost smiled. “I’m not, but I’m going to ask you to do something I have no right to ask.”

I could predict what that would be. “You want me to voluntarily step aside and give Janice an opportunity to lure you and Cody back? Sorry, Brad, I can’t do that. You either love me or you love her.”

“I don’t love her.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“No, it’s not,” I argued. “Are you going to be at her beck and call for the rest of your life?”

“No! Anyway this isn’t about me, it’s about my son.”

“It’s too late for Janice,” I said. Surely he could see my position. Surely he knew he was ripping my heart out.

He didn’t answer for a long, long time. “I owe this to Cody. He loves his mother and wants us to be a family again.” Brad closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to see the pain he was inflicting on me. “I’m so sorry, Lydia. I’d give anything not to hurt you.”

“But I love Cody, too!” I cried. The numbness had attacked my entire body now. I could barely function as I turned away.

“I know you do, and he loves you.”

“But I’ll never be his mother,” I said in such pain I thought I’d be physically ill. Janice would always be the woman he’d loved first, the woman he loved best. Hard as I tried, I would only be a shadowy imitation. Squaring my shoulders, I turned back. Brad hadn’t moved. “I … I guess you’re glad I delayed our wedding plans, aren’t you?”

“No,” he breathed. “Lydia, please, try to understand. I don’t want this—I didn’t ask for this.”

We stood there, he and I, and the room seemed to grow smaller and smaller around us.

Pride demanded that I do my best to put a good face on this, although it took every ounce of resolve I possessed. “Seeing that you’ve made your choice, all I can do is wish you, Janice and Cody a good life.”

He didn’t respond.

“I can’t play this game, Brad. I won’t play it.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“But it can be. It will be. After a while, Janice will realize she’s made yet another mistake and she’ll want her independence once again. Only I won’t be here.”

“What are you saying? All I’m asking—”

“For whatever reason, you want to give Janice another chance,” I broke in. “For Cody’s sake or your own, I’m not sure. That’s your decision, but I can’t let you in and out of my life on her whim.”

“I don’t know what’s right anymore,” he shouted.

“I don’t, either,” I told him. “But apparently I’m second-best now.” It was difficult to maintain my composure. “Does she want to move back in with you? Is that it?”

“No.” Brad shook his head. “She’ll keep her place and I’ll keep mine. We haven’t made any other decisions. I couldn’t do that until I talked to you.”

This was supposed to cheer me up? If so, it hadn’t worked. Brad was obviously deluded about his ex-wife’s motivations. I knew Janice loved Cody. We’d talked several times, Janice and I, over the past months, and she’d made it perfectly clear that despite her maternal connection with Cody, she didn’t want the demands of a husband and family. I was completely dumbfounded by this sudden change of heart.

“I love you,” I said, and my voice trembled so badly it was hard to speak, “but I can’t and won’t play tug-of-war with Janice over you and Cody. You can’t ask me to share your life one minute, and then the next want me to step aside while you test the waters with your ex. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

He didn’t respond but I could see that his teeth were clenched, his jaw rigid. “I’ll do what I can to switch routes so we won’t have to see each other.”

“Thank you.” I was surprised by how calm I sounded, because on the inside I was crumbling.

“I’m sorry, Lydia.”

I looked away, unwilling to let him witness the pain I was in.

The man I loved turned and walked out of my life. The instant the door closed, I fell into a chair and covered my face with both hands. I took deep, shuddering breaths as I struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Moments earlier, I’d been anticipating our Fourth of July barbecue with Cody…. My heart froze as I realized anew that not only was I losing Brad, I was losing Cody. Sweet Cody, who’d taught me so much about love and what it meant to be a mom.

The bell jingled with irritating gaiety. I dropped my hands and plastered a smile on my face, which became a frown when I saw it was Margaret. I said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re late.”

“I know,” she said, without explanation.

“If you’re going to work for me, then I’d appreciate if you could make an effort to be here on time,” I snapped. “Just because I’m your sister doesn’t mean you can show up for work whenever you like.”

Margaret’s jaw sagged at the unexpectedness of my attack. “Okay, message received.”

I stood and retreated to the back room but the trembling in my hands refused to stop. I had to pull myself together, or I’d be an emotional wreck. Unfortunately it was probably too late.

“Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning?” Margaret asked, following me.

I attempted to pour a cup of coffee and couldn’t. Setting the pot back on the burner, I turned to face my sister, certain I’d gone completely ashen.

“Lydia,” she whispered, looking shaken when she saw me. “What happened?”

I opened my mouth to speak but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a low moan escaped and then my body was racked by gut-wrenching sobs. So much for regaining my composure.

Margaret’s arms were around me in a flash, and it was a good thing because I was on the verge of collapse.

“Lydia, Lydia, what happened?” She paused, staring at me. “Is it Brad? I saw him outside and he didn’t say a word to me.”

I couldn’t make myself speak. It felt as if this was the end of the world—my world, anyway. I’d been so happy, so excited. For the first time since I was a teenager, I felt truly alive and normal. I’d found love—only to discover how fleeting it can be.

“I … need to go upstairs,” I whispered after I’d pulled myself together enough to speak. “Can you handle the store for a while?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” I retrieved Whiskers from the front window and by chance looked out to see Brad sitting inside his truck. He had doubled over, his forehead pressed against the upper curve of the steering wheel.

Margaret came to stand behind me. She placed her hand on my shoulder and then glanced out the window.

“You and Brad?” she asked gently.

I nodded. “He’s going back to his ex-wife.”

Margaret turned me in her arms, and hugged me close and hard. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered and I’m sure she was but not nearly as sorry as me.

15
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise wasn’t in the best of moods when she returned from her knitting class. Her nonexistent class. She’d arrived at A Good Yarn to find that Lydia had fallen ill and the class had been cancelled. Margaret had tried to be helpful, but apparently she wasn’t much of a knitter and had never made socks. She did say Lydia would extend the class by one week, which was only fair. Elise, however, had made a considerable effort to get to the yarn store on time and was sorely disappointed.

By way of apology Margaret had offered Elise, Bethanne and Courtney a thirty percent discount on anything they wanted to buy that day. Elise wasn’t buying anything. She didn’t need yarn, she needed help with the socks and was annoyed that she’d have to wait until the following week to continue.

“You’re home early,” Aurora commented when Elise walked into the house. Her dour look must have conveyed her mood because her daughter frowned. “What happened, did the class get cancelled?”

“Yes, and I wanted to learn how to turn the heel.” She hadn’t mentioned that the socks were a gift for David. She wished now that she’d lingered downtown and perhaps visited a friend or gone to the library. Instead, she’d rushed back to the house as if she had nothing better to do.

That sudden desire to return home worried Elise; she was afraid she was succumbing to Maverick’s effect on her. She did everything she could to maintain the distance between them, but it wasn’t easy. After all, they slept across the hall from each other and shared one if not two meals a day.

Maverick didn’t lose an opportunity to sweet-talk her. Oh, Elise recognized it for what it was. This was simply a form of entertainment to him. She was a challenge, and he was determined to win her over, just to prove he could do it. He might view himself as an irresistible force, but Elise was equally determined to remain an immovable object. She absolutely would not fall under his spell—unlike her daughter and everyone else in the household.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Aurora said under her breath. “Dad volunteered to watch the boys for me while I run some errands, but I’m afraid they might be too much for him.”

“You want me to help?”

Aurora’s eyes softened with gratitude. “If you would, Mom, that’d be great.”

Elise longed to refuse, but didn’t feel she could. Maverick would surely welcome this as another chance to exercise his considerable charm. That man would try to talk his way into heaven, and was probably counting on doing exactly that.

“I’ll let Dad know you’re here,” Aurora said, hugging Elise. “Thanks, Mom.”

Elise went to her room, but kept the door open, which she often used to do before Maverick’s visit. Heaven only knew how long he intended to stay. He’d said two weeks; he’d been here one week already and hadn’t given any indication that he was ready to head out. Each day was agony. She wanted him gone so she could relax and not have to stay constantly on guard.

Sorting through her dirty clothes, Elise carried her whites to the laundry room off the kitchen. She loaded the washing machine and waited until she heard the water running before she left.

As she walked into the living room, she saw Maverick standing there, a boy under each arm. Luke and John squealed with delight and he growled playfully, but stopped abruptly when he saw her. “The boys want me to take them to the park.”

“Then I think you should,” she said formally.

“I will if you come along.”

An automatic protest rose. But before she could utter a word, Luke and John begged her to accompany them. She felt she had no choice, particularly since she’d promised Aurora she’d help out with the kids. “All right, I’ll grab my sweater.”

“It’s not cold,” Luke told her.

Today was unseasonably cold for the end of June, but perhaps to a child who raced and played it was pleasant enough. Elise, however, required a sweater.

Maverick and the children were waiting out front for her. Elise called Aurora, who had a cell phone, and explained that they were all walking to the park, which was two blocks away.

The park was little more than a playground with a few pieces of equipment, an abundance of dwarf cherry trees, several well-maintained flower beds and a few benches. The boys loved the swing set and the slides. As soon as they got close, Luke and John tore off across the freshly mowed lawn toward the play equipment.

Maverick followed Elise to a nearby bench. She planned to sit and wait quietly until the boys wore themselves out. She didn’t care what Maverick did and wanted to groan out loud when he settled down next to her. He watched the kids play, laughing aloud a couple of times and shouting encouragement. She had to acknowledge that he was an excellent grandfather. Although he’d had very little experience with children—as far as she knew—he seemed to have a natural affinity for them. Women too, she reminded herself.

“Don’t you envy all that energy?” he asked casually.

“Oh, yes.” She would answer his questions but had no intention of starting up a conversation.

Maverick didn’t say anything for a minute or so, which for him must be some kind of record. That man could talk more than anyone she’d ever known.

When he finally did speak, she wished he hadn’t. “I was surprised to find you living with Aurora.”

She frowned and gathered the sweater more tightly around her. He knew before he’d arrived that she was living with their daughter and her family. “What you really mean is that you’re wondering why an independent woman like me is pinching my pennies.” She hadn’t heard from the attorney in a couple of weeks now and was beginning to fear she’d never get her money back. Thinking about the situation made her feel angry and ill, so most of the time she tried to put it out of her mind.

“All right,” he agreed, “I am wondering. What happened?”

“I … I’m in the middle of a class-action lawsuit with a developer. I bought a piece of land and put money down on a house after touring the model home. Then the development company went belly-up.” The bile rose in her throat as she relayed the details of this disaster. “Trust me, dealing with attorneys and lawsuits isn’t how I thought I’d be spending my retirement.”

It was embarrassing to admit how foolish she’d been in not investigating the project thoroughly before she wrote the check. If she had, she would’ve discovered that the developer was in a financial mess.

“You can’t get the money back?” Maverick asked.

“I’m trying, along with the other people he swindled,” she snapped, angry that he wouldn’t drop the subject. “What I didn’t lose on the house, the attorney’s fees are eating up. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss this further.”

“Sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Is he wanted by the police?”

She wished he was; then perhaps there’d be some recourse, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do except join the others in a lawsuit. “No. It was incompetence, not outright fraud. In the end, I have no one to blame but myself.” Maverick didn’t need to tell her she’d been naive and trusting—Elise was well aware of that fact.

“Is there anything I can do?”

His offer touched her. She didn’t want his kindness or his understanding, and at the same time she craved both. “I should’ve brought my knitting,” she declared with such urgency that Maverick stood, seemingly ready to retrieve it on her behalf.

“Do you need it?”

She shook her head. “It helps calm my nerves, that’s all.”

He sat back down. “I’ll go get it if you want.”

“No, no, it’s all right. Just don’t be kind to me, Maverick. I don’t want you to, so please don’t.”

A scowl darkened his features, and then he seemed to go from anger to gentleness in one blink of his eyes. When he looked at her again, his expression was tender. “I love you, Elise.”

Now she was the one who vaulted to her feet. “Don’t you dare say that to me! Don’t you dare!”

“I mean it.”

“Don’t, Maverick, please don’t. Did you love me when you spent the rent check on a double or nothing bet? Did you love me when there wasn’t enough money to buy milk for the baby?”

He went very still, then whispered. “Yes, I did, but sweetheart, it was a good bet. I couldn’t lose. And I didn’t.”

Elise groaned inwardly. “You say you loved me but you loved gambling more.”

“I did.” He patted the bench, silently inviting her to sit down.

She waited a moment and then gave in. Maverick Beaumont had always been her weakness, but she was older and wiser now and not as easily swayed. Or so she told herself.

“Do you still love gambling as much?” she asked, curiosity forcing her to ask.

He hesitated. “I’m going to tell you something. You might not believe it, but I swear to you it’s true. I’ve given it up. I was good at it, Elise, really good. I made a name for myself but it means nothing to me now. What’s important is my family. I’m through with cards.”

She smiled and resisted the urge to remind him how often she’d heard that before. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“That’s why I’m in Seattle.”

“There are plenty of casinos around here.”

“I won’t be in any of them. I’m looking for a place to buy close to Aurora so I can spend time with her and my grandsons. I missed out on so much while my daughter was growing up, and I feel that God’s given me a second chance with these boys. I’m different now, Elise. I swear to you I’m a changed man.”

“I’m sorry, Maverick. As much as I want to believe you, I can’t.”

It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ve got my eye on a condo. I put down earnest money, but the unit won’t be available until August first. Aurora told me I could stay as long as I needed, and David agreed. Once everything’s been worked out with the title company and the place is vacant, I’ll move in.”

Elise wasn’t sure she should let herself trust him. She wanted to believe what he said, but he’d made so many promises before. His intentions always started out good, but after a week or two of staying away from the gaming tables, he’d find a poker game and be willing to wager their food money on a roll of the dice. She’d seen it far too many times.

“Grandma, Grandpa,” Luke cried, running toward the park bench at breakneck speed.

John followed a few paces behind. “We’re ready to go back to the house.”

This was a pleasant surprise. Generally, it took the boys an hour or more to wind down enough to even consider returning home.

“We want to play that game you taught us,” Luke said, grabbing hold of Maverick’s arm.

Elise’s suspicions rose. “What game?”

“It’s with cards,” Luke explained.

A fierce anger gripped her and her heart began to race.

“Excuse me?” she said to Maverick. “With cards?”

“It’s a Texas game,” John told her excitedly.

“Texas Hold ‘em,” Maverick said, and had the decency to glance sheepishly in her direction. “Now, Elise, don’t go looking at me like that. It’s a harmless game.”

She placed both hands on her hips and glared at him. “Do you mean to tell me you’re teaching our grandsons how to gamble?”

He didn’t deny it.

She should have known … should have known.

16
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

After the evening’s inauspicious beginning, the Mariners’ game with Andrew and Annie Hamlin had turned out to be fun. Courtney had met five of Andrew’s friends, and they’d all seemed friendly. The one person who’d been standoffish and distant, not to mention rude, had been Annie. It was more than obvious that she didn’t want to be at the game and had somehow been thwarted by her mother and brother from doing something else. She’d ignored both Andrew and Courtney and had barely spoken a word the entire evening. Which was why Courtney was rather shocked when Annie phoned on Friday afternoon and invited her to a movie that night.

“Yeah, sure I guess,” Courtney said. It wasn’t like she had any other plans. And a movie was certainly preferable to her other option—playing bingo at the VFW Hall with her grandmother. “What did you want to see?”

Annie seemed unprepared for the question. “I don’t really care, do you? I just need to get out for a while.”

“No, anything is fine.” But a nice romantic comedy would suit her; Courtney was in the mood to laugh.

After some perfunctory chitchat, they arranged a time and place to meet. Precisely at seven, Courtney’s grandmother dropped her off at the entrance to Pacific Place, near the Pottery Barn, on her way to bingo, and Courtney waited outside until Annie arrived. Bethanne waved at Courtney as Annie jumped out of the car and slammed the passenger door.

The smile on Annie’s face faded as soon as her mother’s car was out of sight. “You can split now if you want.”

“Split?”

“I only needed you so Mom would think I was going to the movie.”

Courtney didn’t know whether to feel hurt or offended; what she didn’t feel was surprised. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m meeting friends.”

The message was clear: Courtney wasn’t one of those friends. Fine, but she had no intention of wandering around town all by herself. “Can I come?”

Annie gave her the once-over, then shrugged. “Okay, but not looking like that.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Courtney asked defensively.

Annie shrugged again. “Nothing, I guess, but you need more makeup.”

“Sure, fine.” Courtney had plenty in her purse.

“Follow me,” Bethanne’s daughter said, turning abruptly. She walked into Pacific Place.

Given no choice, Courtney followed her, weaving through the throng of Friday-evening shoppers. They passed a kiosk selling designer cosmetics, which Annie stopped to admire. “You’d look good with this lipstick,” she said, twisting open a display tube of bright purple. She checked the price, raised her eyebrows and put it back.

Courtney started to examine several little pots of eye glitter but didn’t get a chance to see much. Annie had already walked away. Once again, she had to rush in order to catch up. Pacific Place was bright, noisy, crowded with shoppers jostling packages and bags.

Courtney realized Annie was headed for the ladies’ room. Once inside, Annie stepped into a stall while Courtney stood in front of the sink. She set her purse on the counter and pulled out her cosmetics bag. She was stroking on more eye shadow when Annie left the stall in what appeared to be a completely new outfit.

The other girl’s blouse had been replaced by a scanty halter top, with her breasts spilling out over the top. The jeans were now a thigh-high, skin-tight denim skirt.

“Shocked?” Annie asked and laughed. “Mom would be, too, if she saw me.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied Courtney. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

The question was accompanied by a glare that promised to make trouble for her if she refused. “I won’t tell.”

“Promise?”

Courtney nodded.

Annie’s face relaxed in a smile. “Good. Here’s a gift for you.” She tossed Courtney the tube of purple lipstick she’d been looking at only moments earlier.

Courtney caught it just before it hit the floor. She was stunned; she could’ve sworn she’d seen Annie return it.

“It’s a skill I have,” Annie explained.

Courtney hoped she wasn’t around when this little kleptomaniac got arrested. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep the lipstick herself. After her mother died, she’d been shoplifting at an expensive clothing store. Security had called the police and, worse, her father. Nothing was worth risking that humiliation again. Or the guilt … She’d never forget the sorrow and disappointment on her father’s face.

When Annie wasn’t looking, Courtney threw the tube in the garbage.

Staring into a mirror, Annie teased her hair, reapplied her makeup with an expert hand and moved toward the door. She sighed when Courtney didn’t immediately follow her. “Are you coming or not?”

Hurriedly, Courtney stuffed her cosmetics bag inside her purse and started after the other girl, wondering where Annie was going now. It didn’t matter. Courtney decided she had to go with her. She didn’t know what Annie was up to but felt responsible. Maybe because of Bethanne; she wasn’t sure. Or maybe it was simply because she recognized the signs—an unhappy, self-destructive girl intent on finding trouble.

They left Pacific Place and walked a few blocks north. Annie chatted along the way, talking about music and school, and she seemed almost grateful for the company. When the Space Needle came into view, Courtney realized they were close to the Seattle Center.

Several kids had already assembled in a parking lot not far from the Center. A tall thin boy with long, greasy hair climbed out of his car, a beat-up old hatchback, when Annie approached.

“Who’s she?” he asked, gesturing toward Courtney, whom he eyed suspiciously.

“That’s Courtney,” Annie said. “She’s cool.”

“Hi.” Courtney raised her hand.

“I’m Chris,” he said as he grabbed Annie around the waist and pulled her against him.

This guy gave Courtney the creeps, but he and Annie obviously had some kind of relationship.

“You got the stuff?” Annie asked.

He nodded.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she said with a saucy laugh.

From the way the two of them acted, whispering and laughing together, Courtney assumed they were about to take off without her. They were both inside the vehicle when Chris leaned over the backseat and opened the rear passenger door.

“Get in,” he said. “If Annie says you’re cool, you’re cool.”

Courtney reluctantly clambered into the backseat; the moment she’d gotten into the vehicle, Chris roared out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?” she asked, searching for a seat belt. There didn’t seem to be one.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Annie told her.

They drove for a while, taking various back streets, and went up and down several others. Although she tried to keep track, Courtney got too confused. She did figure out that they must be somewhere near the waterfront because she saw warehouses and heard a blast from an incoming ferry. By now it was after eight.

Chris parked and Annie slid out of the front seat. “Come on,” she shouted to Courtney.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“A rave.”

“What?”

“You don’t know what a rave is?” Annie sounded incredulous.

“Sure I do,” Courtney said, but she’d never been to one. They were illegal in Chicago and probably Seattle, too.

“You ever done ecstasy?” Chris asked, looping his arm around Annie’s neck.

Courtney stood back and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Annie assured her. “I’ll get you some.”

“No, thanks … I, uh, think I’ll just watch the first time.”

Annie glanced at Chris, who shrugged. “No problem.”

The warehouse was dark and the music so loud it was actually painful. After a few minutes, Courtney’s eyes adjusted and she strained to see what was happening around her. Couples were dancing, some frenetically. Other people were on the side, guzzling drinks—bottles of water, it looked like, and beer. They seemed oblivious to what was going on around them. A fog of smoke hung over the room, and Courtney recognized the pungent scent of marijuana.

Almost immediately Annie and Chris were on the dance floor. Courtney kept an eye on her. She knew Annie was angry and probably depressed; she’d seen it the night of the baseball game. She’d gone through a difficult time herself after her mother died. Her grades fell and she’d started hanging around with the wrong crowd, getting into minor kinds of trouble. Only she’d been younger, so boys hadn’t been as much of an issue. And she’d smartened up before things could escalate—to raves and drugs. Still, she’d done some pretty stupid stuff that she regretted now and she didn’t want Annie to go through what she had.

Moving as far back as she could, while still watching Annie, Courtney nearly stumbled over a man squatting in the corner. Her eyes widened as she saw him insert a needle into his arm. After injecting the drug—heroin? She didn’t know—he leaned his head back, then slumped to the ground.

Annie staggered off the floor. “Dance!” she demanded of Courtney. “Don’t be such a drag.”

“Okay.” Courtney moved closer to the dancers and lifted her arms up and down like a monkey. She felt stupid, awkward and out of place. Julianna would have her head on a platter if she ever learned about this. Forget her dad; Courtney’s big sister would be furious. But Courtney was stuck now and had no idea where she was or how she’d ever find her way home.

Annie was acting weird, weirder than before. She and Chris were deeply absorbed in each other. The music was loud and the entire place seemed to reverberate with it. Despite the darkened room, Courtney saw Annie’s purse slip from her shoulder to the floor and ran over to grab it. Neither Annie nor Chris appeared to notice.

The more she watched the other girl, the more concerned she became. Annie was high. Out of control. She was flinging herself around the dance floor, clutching at Chris, sweating profusely. Nearly desperate, Courtney dug around in Annie’s large purse, past the discarded clothes, until she found a cell phone. Annie needed help. She might not appreciate the interference, but Courtney felt she had to do something and fast. Scrolling down the address book, she paused at the second name. She had to phone either Bethanne or Andrew. Annie was more likely to forgive her for contacting her brother. She hit the key and pressed the phone to her ear, struggling to hear above the din of the music.

It rang four times before Andrew answered. “What?” he demanded irritably.

“Andrew, it’s Courtney.”

“Why are you calling me from my sister’s cell?”

“Annie’s in trouble and I don’t know what to do.” She didn’t want to overstate the problem, nor did she feel she should downplay it.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” she shouted, struggling to be heard. “We’re somewhere on the waterfront, in a warehouse. It’s a rave. Oh, no!”

“What?”

Courtney hurried back to the dance door. “Annie’s topless,” she said in horror. “She’s doing drugs. Ecstasy, I think.” She walked toward the doors, where it was marginally quieter.

“Is she with Chris?”

“Yes.” Courtney had left the building now and was surprised to see that it was completely dark out.

Andrew swore. “I think I know where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Relief washed over her.

“Stay with Annie,” he instructed her.

“I will.”

“And Courtney, listen.” He hesitated. “Thanks.” He clicked off, abruptly ending the conversation.

Courtney ran back inside and frantically searched the room until she found Annie. She had her legs wrapped around a man, her head thrown back and her arms flaying about to some earsplitting tempo. Chris was with another girl, a spike-haired brunette, and although Courtney couldn’t be sure, it looked as if they were in the middle of sex. Courtney turned away, unwilling to watch. She alternated between rushing outside to flag down Andrew and checking on Annie. An eternity passed before she saw Andrew pull up outside the warehouse in Bethanne’s car.

“Where is she?” he shouted, running toward Courtney. He carried a plaid blanket he’d obviously brought with him.

“Inside. She’s with some guy I’ve never seen before.” She didn’t want to say it, but she was terrified of what Andrew would find when he located his sister. In all likelihood, Annie would never forgive her. Still, Courtney was convinced that Annie didn’t know what she was doing, or with whom.

“Wait here,” he told her, his eyes hard.

Although it was difficult, she did what he asked. She feared Andrew might need help, that Annie would fight him and others might get involved. She conjured up such frightening scenarios that by the time he appeared, carrying his sister, Courtney was ready to phone the police.

“Is she all right?” Courtney asked anxiously. Annie seemed half-unconscious, her head lolling back. She was wrapped in the blanket, and Courtney admired Andrew’s thoughtfulness in bringing it.

His mouth in a tight line, Andrew nodded. “Help me get her in the car,” he ordered.

Working together, they got Annie into the backseat. Courtney reached into Annie’s purse, producing the blouse she’d worn earlier in the evening, and managed to push Annie’s arms through the sleeves. The girl offered no help and stared up at them, dazed and senseless. Once Courtney had buttoned it, Annie fell across the backseat. Andrew lifted his sister’s legs so that she was completely prone and draped her with the blanket.

“Did you have fun?” She raised her head enough to ask Courtney in a slurred voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Courtney muttered, and climbed into the front seat next to Andrew.

“Lie down and shut up,” Andrew told his sister.

She started to groan when they took off. Courtney thought she heard sirens in the distance; whether they had anything to do with the rave or not, she didn’t know.

“What’s wrong?” Courtney asked. She didn’t need to clarify her question. Andrew knew what she meant.

“Annie and my dad were close,” he said from between gritted teeth. “My sister hasn’t adjusted to the divorce, as you could no doubt tell on Monday night. It’s like she’s trying to make my parents regret what they did. The thing she doesn’t understand is how badly she’s hurting herself.”

“I don’t want her to get angry with me.”

“She won’t,” Andrew promised.

“How can you be so sure?” Courtney believed she understood his sister far better than Andrew would ever know. Annie felt as if she’d lost her father; Courtney knew what it was like to lose a parent. Her own life had changed irrevocably the minute her mother died. Nothing was or would ever be the same again. She wouldn’t walk into the house after school and hear her mother’s voice. There wouldn’t be any more of the special traditions Courtney treasured. The world had become a smaller place, a crueler place, without her mother. She didn’t criticize Annie for using drugs. Courtney had chosen another addiction to dull her pain—food. It’d taken her four years to find the resolve to break free of this self-imposed punishment.

Courtney turned toward him. “I want to talk to Annie later, all right?” she said.

Andrew looked away from the road long enough to make eye contact with her. “She needs professional help.”

“I know.” Courtney just hoped Annie got that help before it was too late.

17
CHAPTER

“Most of us knit these garments for someone special. In doing so, we let our love and loving thoughts for one another grow, a single stitch at a time.”

—Eugene Bourgeois, The Philosopher’s Wool Co., Inverhuron, Ontario. www.philosopherswool.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Somehow I made it through the Fourth of July, thanks to my family. Matt and Margaret were so good to me, and Mom only asked about Brad once. I don’t know what Margaret said, but his name was conspicuously absent from our conversations for the rest of the day.

Mom seemed especially quiet and even a bit confused. I spent as much time with her as I could, talking to her about the garden, the yarn shop, a TV show we’d both seen. My thoughts were with Brad, though, and with Cody. I experienced my grief as physical pain, as an ache in my chest—I think that’s what people mean when they talk about a broken heart. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it: that Janice was with them and I wasn’t. I tried hard to remember that Cody needed his mother.

After our barbecued chicken, coleslaw and corn—an all-American feast—I brought out a box of assorted pastries from the French Café. I’d included some cream puffs and napoleons, which were Alix’s specialties. I hoped to see her on Friday at the shop. Once we’d finished dessert I took Mom home; she was too tired by then to wait for darkness to fall and the fireworks to begin.

We gathered, Matt, Margaret and I, to watch the fireworks, and as they burst over the Seattle skyline, tears rolled down my cheeks. I’d hardly ever felt more wretched or alone.

I wasn’t good company. It’d been almost two weeks, and I knew I could make it if I didn’t think about the future, if I coped with one day at a time. If I could get through today, I told myself, I’d find the courage to confront the next day and the next.

It didn’t help that Brad continued to work the same route. Tuesday morning he told Margaret he’d requested a transfer but had been denied. I believed him. Last year, when I’d ended our relationship, he’d applied for—and received—a transfer and then later, when things were settled between us, he’d requested his old route back. Now the powers that be were obviously tired of this. So we were stuck seeing each other on a regular basis.

After weeks of depression over Matt’s unexpected job loss, Margaret seemed to have cheered up considerably. I didn’t know if this was an act for my benefit. In any case, I chose to believe that because Margaret loves me, she was trying to bolster my mood and create a supportive environment. I valued her support and this new tenderness.

I also needed Margaret as a buffer between Brad and me. He’d been in the shop four or five times since our last conversation and, thankfully, my sister was available to deal with him. This saved me, because I wasn’t ready to pretend our relationship was merely casual. I couldn’t speak to him without letting my emotions show and that would’ve humiliated me all the more.

Besides Margaret, one of my few comforts during this bleak time was the charity knitting group. They came Friday afternoons to work on a number of projects. When I first suggested this idea, my original class decided that they’d knit patches for Warm Up America. The nine-by-seven-inch pieces are crocheted together by Margaret to form blankets. This is her contribution to the effort. The patches make for an easy project, and each requires only a small commitment of time. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix lead busy lives, so this worked well for them. They also liked the idea of being involved in the same projects.

Elise wanted to come, but hadn’t yet. I’d given her some donated yarn and she was knitting a blanket for the Linus Project at home. Alix had knit a couple of blankets for them, too, between classes at the Seattle Cooking Academy and her part-time job at the French Café.

Margaret was in the store when all three of the women from my original class showed up on Friday afternoon. She’d become as fond of them as I had. The first to arrive was Jacqueline.

“I’m back,” she announced as she swept into the shop. Jacqueline was always one to make an entrance. Margaret and I have come to love the way she broadcasts her arrival, although at one time it annoyed me. As always, Jacqueline looked like the society matron she is, every hair in place. She once told me never to discount the effectiveness of a good hair spray. I would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been serious.

I’ve given up trying to keep track of all the traveling Jacqueline and Reece do. In the past year, they’d been on a cruise in the Greek islands, a walking tour of England’s Lake District and most recently they went salmon fishing in Alaska. That, according to Jacqueline, was a longtime dream of her husband’s. To my utter amazement, she loved it and even brought me some smoked salmon.

“How are you?” Jacqueline asked, gazing into my eyes. She didn’t wait for a response before pulling me into a tight hug.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

She took her place at the table and brought out her knitting. Her patch was knit in super-wash, hand-dyed wool at fourteen dollars a skein, but that was Jacqueline. Price was rarely a consideration. And in her generosity, she always bought her own yarn for the charity projects, rather than accepting donated leftovers from me.

“I see I’m the first one here,” she said, looking around. This was unusual in itself. “Well, I’ve got great news and I’ll tell you first.” She smiled widely. “Tammy Lee’s pregnant again! Reece and I are beside ourselves.”

I remember how she’d once objected strenuously to her southern daughter-in-law and called her “white trash” and a “breeder.” My friend had experienced a change of heart, largely due to Tammy Lee’s patience and her loving personality—as Jacqueline’s the first to admit. Jacqueline adores little Amelia and I was sure she’d feel exactly the same about this new baby.

“It’s a girl and she’s due in February around Valentine’s Day.” Her eyes lit up. “Isn’t that perfect?” She smiled again. “I want to look through your baby patterns later. There’s knitting to be done!”

As we laughed, the door opened and Carol came in. I was mildly surprised to find she was by herself.

“Where’s Cameron?” I asked. The baby had been a miracle, one that had happened last year. Carol and Doug had tried desperately for a baby through in vitro fertilization. They had their son now, but he’d been adopted—truly a child of their hearts. That was thanks to Alix, whose roommate had been secretly and unhappily pregnant.

“Doug has the day off, so Cam’s with his daddy,” Carol explained as she sat down next to Jacqueline. They exchanged greetings and she took out her knitting. It was wonderful to see her. With a toddler underfoot she couldn’t participate every week. If she did stop by, it was during Cameron’s nap-time. She’d park the stroller by the table and stay only until her son woke up. Her child was the delight of her life; he brought her the greatest happiness imaginable. She’d told me that she and Doug were closer than ever, both of them completely dedicated to Cameron. I wanted to tell her to hold on to this joy, to cling to it, because—as I’d learned two weeks ago—happiness can disappear all too fast.

Carol’s knitting needles clicked rapidly as she worked on her section of the blanket. She was a fearless knitter who loved a challenge. I’d showed her the two-needle technique for socks and she’d basically taught herself the rest. “I heard from my brother the other day,” she said, frowning. “He’s remarried.”

“You mean he didn’t invite you to the wedding?”

“No. He let us know after the fact.”

From the way she said it, I knew Carol was disappointed in him. She’d confided in me earlier about Rick, and I gathered he was a self-indulgent and rather immature man. An airline pilot, he was a little too apt to engage in dalliances with flight attendants and other women he met on his travels. That had, of course, ruined his marriage to a woman Carol liked.

“I hope this marriage lasts longer than his first one,” she added. “Doug and I mailed them a gift. We rarely hear from Rick these days.” In other words, she wasn’t running to the mailbox looking for a thank-you card.

She was about to say more when the door opened again and in walked Alix.

“Whuzzup?” she cried to a chorus of greetings. Alix is … unique. When she first signed up for the class, I was afraid I’d be dealing with a felon. The first thing Alix did was tell me she’d be knitting the baby blanket to satisfy her court-ordered community service hours. Next, she wanted to know if that would count toward anger management. Despite some awkward moments early on, we’ve all come to treasure her. Time and love have worn away the rough edges of her personality. Last year she started dating Jordan, a youth minister she’d known since grade school. I knew the two of them were getting serious, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Alix announced their engagement in the near future.

Alix looked me in the eye. “I know about Brad. I could have him hurt if you want.”

I didn’t know if she was joking or not, so I laughed, or tried to. I told her the same thing I did Jacqueline. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

Alix pulled out a chair and sat down with her needles and yarn. I sat at the end of the table, resuming a ChemoCap I’d begun the week before. Smiling at my friends, I tried to imagine the Warm Up America blanket they’d construct. Jacqueline with her lavender-and-pink super-wash wool patches; Carol’s patches in a nice Paton’s baby-blue yarn left from a sweater she’d knit Cameron; and Alix’s variegated green-and-yellow blend, leftovers one of my other customers had donated.

“I made a genoise this morning,” Alix said proudly. “Those are really hard to do—very delicate. It turned out perfectly. And it sold right away.”

“That’s wonderful,” Jacqueline exclaimed. “I want to order one for a business dinner we’re having next week.”

“For you—it’s free. I’ll make it at home.” Alix continued to live in the housekeeper’s quarters at Jacqueline and Reece’s place. She’d originally been hired to help with the housework, but with school and her job, it’d become too much for her. Jacqueline had hired someone else who came in during the days to do the housekeeping, but Alix was still staying with the Donovans to watch the house whenever Jacqueline and Reece traveled.

“Just think of it,” Alix said, “I get my first real job as a pastry chef, and wouldn’t you know, it’s in the same spot I worked before. Only this time it’s not a video joint, but a classy café.”

“And Reece and I didn’t have a thing to do with her getting that job,” Jacqueline reminded everyone. “Alix was hired for her skills.”

“You bet I was. Anyone who tastes my éclairs and cream puffs would know it, too.”

“Don’t mention those éclairs,” Jacqueline pleaded, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m on a new diet and I’m avoiding desserts—except at dinner parties, of course.”

“Speaking of diets,” I said, changing the subject, “I’ve got a teenager in my sock class, Courtney, who’s knitting in an effort to lose weight.” I laughed as I said it. “How it works, she says, is that while she’s knitting, she’s not in the kitchen hauling food out of the fridge. And she’s definitely lost a few pounds.”

“Hmm,” Jacqueline murmured. “It’s worth considering. Keep us posted.”

“Courtney’s a high-school senior,” I said. “Does anyone remember meeting Vera Pulanski? This is her granddaughter.”

Jacqueline nodded. “Vera gave me her scarf pattern.”

“Courtney’s living with her this year.”

“How’s she doing?” Alix asked. “That’s tough, moving around so much. I should know.”

“So far, so good,” I assured her.

“Did anyone else interesting sign up for your classes?” Carol asked, finishing her row.

I hesitated before mentioning Bethanne. “A divorced woman who hasn’t quite found herself.” I couldn’t help worrying about her. Bethanne had talked about needing a job, but apparently nothing I or any of the other women suggested was suitable. She seemed depressed to me, lacking direction and purpose. All that kept her going was her two teenage children, who’d be out of the house within a few years. Bethanne would be completely alone then.

“There’s Elise, too.”

“She’s the retired librarian?” Carol asked.

“Yes.” I put aside the ChemoCap and cast on stitches for a new patch in an acrylic and wool blend, a sample one of the reps had given me. “I thought she was a bit of a prude when we first met, but I’ve changed my mind. I think she’s simply … self-contained. I got the impression she doesn’t have many friends.”

“Did you tell her about my Birthday Club?” Jacqueline asked. “She’s welcome to join.”

I should’ve guessed that my friend, the social butterfly, would be willing to draw Elise into her circle. “I don’t think she’s part of the country club set,” I protested.

“That doesn’t matter. It’s a good excuse to go out once a month and celebrate. And if nobody in the group has a birthday that month, we choose a celebrity or a famous writer. So in June, we toasted Judy Garland and Dorothy Sayers. We have a lot of fun.” She giggled like a schoolgirl, silly and joyous. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that this was the same stuffy socialite who’d walked in my door a year ago. I attributed the transformation to the fact that my friend had rediscovered her love for her husband and become close to her daughter-in-law.

“I’ll tell Elise,” I said, but I’d feel a little uncomfortable doing it. Elise was a difficult woman to read. She was guarded and didn’t share much about her life, as if she was afraid to let people know who she was. However, she brightened whenever she mentioned her daughter and grandchildren.

During the last class, she’d been even more withdrawn than usual. When I tried to get her to enter into the conversation, she’d smiled weakly and apologized for being out of sorts. She’d actually revealed something about herself that day. Her ex-husband was visiting, she told us, and had announced he was moving to the area. Elise didn’t appear pleased at the prospect of sharing her family with a man who’d been absent for most of his daughter’s life.

The bell chimed and because it was Friday, I half feared it might be Brad. I’d leave Margaret to deal with him; she’d been busy with customers all afternoon. She seemed to sense that I needed this break, this time surrounded by friends. I sighed with relief when I saw Elise. “I was just talking about you,” I said and greeted her warmly.

She looked shyly around the table. I introduced her, and Jacqueline was quick to move her knitting bag, clearing a space in the chair next to hers. “Lydia said you recently retired. I’d say it’s high time you joined the Birthday Club.” She paused. “When is your birthday?”

“January.” Elise seemed uncertain about Jacqueline’s invitation. “At my age, I don’t think it’s a good idea to make a fuss about getting older.”

Jacqueline smiled. “Are you kidding? Every new year is a reason to celebrate. You’ll love it, I promise. Our next meeting is Thursday lunch and I’ll come and get you. Life is meant to be lived, that’s what I say.”

“I—I won’t know anyone. And … what about the cost? How much is it?”

“You’ll know me,” Jacqueline insisted. “And your first lunch is my treat, since we missed your real birthday.” When Elise continued to object, Jacqueline spoke in a decisive tone the rest of us were familiar with. “You’re coming, understand? I won’t listen to a single argument.”

“I suppose that would be all right,” Elise said, but she didn’t sound confident that this would be a pleasant experience.

I was smiling, genuinely warmed by my friends. The bell chimed again and when I looked up there was Brad. Just as I’d feared … The happiness drained out of me but I need not have worried.

Margaret’s gaze went straight to me from across the room. “I’ll take care of this,” she muttered.

Alix frowned and leaned forward to whisper, “I can still have him hurt. I know people. You say the word, and it’s done.”

I still hadn’t decided whether or not she was joking, but I couldn’t keep my eyes away from Brad. I shook my head. He looked as miserable as I felt. “That won’t be necessary,” I assured Alix. He was hurting enough already. We both were.

18
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise’s book club met at two o’clock on the second Monday of every month and she loved it. The group was sponsored by the Seattle Public Library, and Elise had promised herself she’d participate after she retired. She also planned to join Jacqueline’s Birthday Club at least once, and was determined to enjoy herself.

The July book discussion revolved around the book Girl In Hyacinth Blue by Susan Vreeland. It had been lively, and Elise left the meeting feeling invigorated. The group had brought a variety of perspectives to the novel, including some she hadn’t previously considered.

The bus dropped her off a half block from home. The house was quiet when she walked in and she tried to remember what Aurora had said about her plans.

The minute she walked in the door, Luke and John always demanded her attention. The silence this afternoon was disorienting.

“Aurora, I’m back, and it was the best meeting yet,” she called. “I—” She paused in midsentence when Maverick stepped out of the kitchen wearing an apron and wielding a tomato-smeared wooden spoon.

“Aurora and the boys are out for the afternoon,” he explained. “Last-minute plans.”

“Oh.” Her excitement evaporated quickly.

“I’m cooking,” he explained, although that was obvious. “Lasagna to be exact—it was always your favorite of my dishes.”

Elise imagined he’d dirtied every single pan and bowl. She remembered how he could wreak havoc in an orderly kitchen. “Does Aurora know about this?” she asked sternly. He expected her to comment on the fact that he was supposedly doing this for her benefit, but she wasn’t saying a word.

“Aurora suggested it.”

Elise wondered about that, but couldn’t very well argue with him.

“You will join me for dinner, won’t you?” he asked, smiling at her in a way that made refusing him difficult. “It’ll probably be just the two of us.”

Despite herself, she was tempted, but common sense overruled that brief thought. “Thank you, but no,” she returned stiffly. “I had a snack this afternoon at my book club.”

“What did you read?” he asked, delaying her in the hallway when he knew very well she wanted to escape.

“A book.”

He chuckled as though he found that amusing.

“I’d like to go to my room now, if you’d kindly move aside.”

“I’m just putting the lasagna in the oven. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“When will Aurora and the boys be back?” she asked, instead of arguing.

“She couldn’t say for sure. Eight o’clock, she figured. She’s meeting her friend—Susan?”

He made it a question, apparently unsure of the name.

“Susan Katz has been Aurora’s best friend nearly her entire life.” Her voice hummed with indignation. Had Maverick taken more than a casual interest in their daughter, he would’ve known that. “Susan has two little girls around the same age as Luke and John. Did they go to Lake Washington?” It was a favorite summertime activity for them.

“I think so.”

That told Elise her ex-husband was right—her daughter and grandsons wouldn’t be home until late. With busy schedules and complicated lives, it was difficult for Aurora and Susan to coordinate time together. They’d probably stop somewhere for dinner on the drive home.

“David’s out of town until Wednesday,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just you and me.”

“No,” she took delight in informing him. “It’s just you. I’m not hungry. I intend to spend the rest of the evening in my room. Apparently you weren’t listening.”

His smile faded. “No.” He sounded discouraged. “I guess I wasn’t.”

Elise almost felt sorry for him. She was relieved when he turned away and went back to the kitchen. Feeling guilty at having dampened his spirits—and feeling angry about feeling guilty—she continued down the long hallway to her sanctuary.

An hour later, Elise sat in front of her television, half watching the evening news. Her fingers moved nimbly as she worked on her charity knitting project. She’d knit fifteen patches for the Warm Up America blanket, plus a blanket for the Linus Project, and kept herself busy with that while she waited for the next sock-knitting class.

Binding off the patch, she was about to reach for the remote control when her stomach growled. Those snacks she’d mentioned—a few carrots and celery sticks from the veggie tray and a small piece of cheese—had long since disappeared. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was famished.

As if this message had somehow been telegraphed to Maverick, he chose that precise moment to knock at her bedroom door. Once she’d called out, he opened it.

“I was hoping I could get you to change your mind. It’s no fun eating alone.”

The scents emerging from the kitchen, fresh basil and oregano blended with the enticing aromas of garlic and tomatoes, were her undoing. “I suppose I could manage to eat a bit.” This was fair warning to keep food in her room for future emergencies, she told herself.

“You won’t be sorry,” Maverick promised gleefully. He led her into the dining room, and it was as if he’d planned this meal just for her. Fresh white daisies adorned the center of the table. There were two place settings, opposite each other, and he’d used Aurora’s loveliest china and crystal. He’d already poured the wine. A merlot, she suspected, remembering his preferences. Although it’d been years since they’d dined like this, she remembered his every like and dislike. Elise recalled, too, that Maverick had cooked for her the night he proposed. Not lasagna that time but linguine with a shrimp and crab cream sauce. Oh, this was ridiculous! Why was she still thinking about a meal she’d had decades ago?

Maverick pulled out the chair to seat her. “You were very confident, weren’t you?” she said stiffly, looking at her filled wineglass.

“I was more confident about the scent of my cooking.”

She didn’t want to be with him like this and yet she did—and it was more than the empty sensation in her stomach. Spending this kind of time with him was dangerous. Well, she knew that, but she was here now, and hungry, and she might as well have dinner.

Maverick brought a Caesar salad, redolent with garlic, into the dining room. When he was seated again, he lifted his wineglass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he said.

“That isn’t necessary,” she said and heard the tremor in her voice. “This is thoughtful of you, but it’s dinner and nothing more. There’s no romance between us, and one meal isn’t going to resurrect long-dead feelings.”

Maverick arched his eyebrows. “Long-dead?”

“We’ve been divorced more years than I care to think about,” she felt obliged to remind him. If he wasn’t counting, she was.

“A toast,” he continued, ignoring her outburst. “To Elise, the love of my life.”

She pushed back the chair, ready to walk away. “Don’t,” she warned him. Her throat thickened with resentment. How dared he say such a thing to her!

He lowered his wineglass as if nothing was amiss, and reached for his fork. Since—apparently—he intended to behave himself, she reached for her own. Although the lump in her throat made it difficult to chew and swallow, the effort was worth it. Maverick possessed many talents but he excelled in the kitchen. He could have been a noteworthy chef had he followed that path. Instead he’d chased after a pot of gold, collecting nothing except dust and false dreams along the way.

When they’d finished their salad, he removed the plates and served the lasagna. It tasted as heavenly as it smelled, and Elise savored every bite, eating far more than she normally did.

They ate in silence until he finally spoke. “There’s something we should discuss.”

“I can’t imagine what,” she replied primly.

To her astonishment, he relaxed in his chair and broke into a smile.

“What’s so amusing?” she demanded.

“I used to love it when you got all uppity.”

“I beg your pardon?” She already regretted agreeing to dinner. Would she never learn?

“You used to do that,” he said, motioning toward her with his hand, “when we were married.”

“Do what?”

“You’d get that haughty look on your face—the same look you have right now.” He grinned triumphantly. “I loved it. Still do.”

She scraped up the last forkful of noodle, sauce and melted cheese, not deigning to respond. In another minute, she’d retreat to her room….

“I used to time myself—see how long it would take me to get you to smile.”

“Damn it,” she sputtered, outraged by his remark. Everything, everything, was a challenge to him. A game.

“Don’t you remember,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “I used to wrap my arms around you from behind and kiss you till—”

“You did no such thing.” She remembered all too well, but chose to push those memories away. During their marriage, Maverick always got what he wanted—always won his little games—by using her love for him. Taking advantage of it, of her.

“Oh, you remember,” he whispered. “You do.”

“I’ve done my best to forget,” she said without emotion. “You might not believe this, but living with you had very little to recommend it.”

His smile faded and he sobered. “No one is more aware of that than I am.”

“Nothing’s changed,” she said. “You might claim you’ve given up gambling but you can’t do it. The allure is still there.”

“Not true.”

“Not true? You can’t stay away from the cards.”

“I can play,” he said calmly. “I don’t need to gamble.”

Elise shook her head. “That’s like an alcoholic claiming he can go into a tavern and not be tempted.” Considering that he was teaching their grandsons poker, he was being more than a little unrealistic about his ability to control his gambling.

“I mean it, Elise. It’s over. I refuse to squander the rest of my life on a roll of the dice or the luck of the draw. I want my family and I want you.”

Shocked by his words, Elise nearly spewed wine across the tablecloth. With a supreme effort she swallowed. “You’re too late,” she told him. “Thirty-seven years too late.”

“I think,” he said as he saluted her with his wineglass, “that I’m just in time.”

19
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne turned off the vacuum cleaner and listened. Sure enough, the phone was ringing. She debated letting the answering machine pick up, but she’d left job applications at a number of businesses and didn’t want to miss a call from a prospective employer.

Hurrying into the kitchen, she drew in a calming breath and grabbed the receiver. “This is Bethanne Hamlin,” she said in her most professional voice.

“We need to talk.”

Deflated, Bethanne leaned against the kitchen wall. She didn’t want to deal with her ex-husband again. Their last meeting, at the café on Blossom Street, had left her reeling with resentment and anger. “Hello, Grant, how unpleasant to hear from you,” she murmured sweetly.

“I’m coming over.”

She bit back the words to tell him she would choose the time and place of their next meeting, but it would do little good. After twenty years of marriage she knew Grant’s moods. She could tell from his tone that he was furious and wouldn’t be put off.

“Fine,” she said curtly.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Fine.” The unnamed problem was apparently urgent enough for Grant to take time off in the middle of the day—something that hardly ever happened. She hung up and returned to her vacuuming.

Exactly seven minutes after his call, she heard the knob twist and then a heavy fist pounding against the front door. Grant mistakenly assumed he had the right to walk into her home. Well, she’d fixed that. After the divorce was final, Bethanne had changed the locks, and it gave her a sense of satisfaction to thwart him now.

“Did you think I intended to break in?” he snarled when she unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him into the house.

“I wasn’t about to give you the opportunity,” she snarled back. She wanted him to know that he was only there now with her express permission.

Grant charged into the kitchen, then whirled around to face her. “Did you put Annie up to this?” he demanded, his eyes spitting fire at her.

“To what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He glared at her, fists clenched at his sides. “Where is she anyway?”

“If you’re referring to our daughter, all I can tell you is that she’s out.” Bethanne folded her arms over her chest and relaxed, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter. She’d tried to warn him, had done her level best to let him know what she’d discovered. Grant had dismissed her worry, as he so often had in the past. In her view, that meant any mischief Annie had visited on Tiffany was his problem, not hers.

“You knew—and you didn’t say a word!”

“What are you talking about? I warned you about the way she felt—the way she still feels.” She sighed with exaggerated patience. “If you recall, I mentioned that I’d read Annie’s journal.” Bethanne didn’t know what her daughter had done on this particular occasion, only that Annie festered with rage.

Grant started to pace. “All you said was that she’s angry.”

“Correction,” she snapped. “That was all you let me say. As I remember the conversation, you brushed aside my concern and said Annie would get over it in time.” She sighed again. “What did she do?”

“You don’t know?”

Bethanne shrugged. “She’s hurting and she blames Tiffany. I assume she had some bedwetting information mailed to her.” She’d read that in the journal and been privately amused. There’d been plenty of other items Annie had requested in Tiffany’s name. Immature and annoying behavior, yes—but what had really shocked Bethanne was the pure hatred her daughter felt for the other woman. Her words were full of spite and anger, to the point that Bethanne knew something had to be done. Annie refused to discuss it, and Grant refused to listen. Bethanne had made an appointment with the therapist she’d seen briefly after Grant’s defection; she wanted to talk about the situation, get some advice, maybe arrange for Annie to see her, too.

“Having all that crap sent to the apartment is mail fraud, and it isn’t a laughing matter. But that’s not the half of it. She’s gone way over the line this time.”

“How unfortunate you have to deal with more junk mail than usual,” Bethanne said sarcastically, knowing it was a childish response. “My sympathies to you both.”

Grant scowled at her. “I can’t thank you enough for your support,” he muttered. “Especially since I’ve spent the last hour dealing with Tiff who’s hysterical because someone poured sugar down her gas tank.”

“No,” Bethanne gasped.

“One guess who’s at the top of the suspect list.”

“Oh, no.” This was much worse than Bethanne had expected. Grant was probably right, too—it was a step up from requesting nuisance mail, but exactly the type of revenge Annie could wreak.

“That’s a serious offense,” he said. “We haven’t talked to the cops yet, but—”

“Would you really prosecute your own daughter?” Grant had sunk lower than she’d ever thought he would, but she’d never dreamed he’d turn Annie over to the authorities.

“It isn’t me she’s doing this to, it’s Tiff.”

Tiff, it was. Poor, poor Tiff. “Then perhaps you should have Tiff discuss the matter with Annie and work this out.”

“That’s not all,” he shouted. “Annie’s done her best to make Tiffany’s life and mine a living hell. You don’t even want to know about the horrible garbage she’s sent via the Internet. Why can’t you control your daughter?”

“Listen. Annie’s your daughter, too, and her secure and happy life was uprooted because her father’s brains are located below his belt buckle.”

“Damn it, Bethanne, I don’t have to put up with that kind of verbal abuse from you. We’re divorced.”

“Fine, then,” she said, gesturing at the front door. “Get out of my house.”

“The only reason you have this house is because I gave it to you.”

“Gave it to me?” she cried, outraged he’d even suggest such a thing. “Gave it to me mortgaged to the hilt. There’s not a penny’s equity in this place, thanks to you.”

“But who’s making the payments?” he challenged. “Don’t forget I’m the one signing those alimony checks—which allow you to keep this house. And that reminds me, do you have a job yet?” This was asked with such blatant sarcasm, Bethanne cringed.

She closed her eyes and tried to control her anger. She didn’t want to argue with Grant. There was no point.

“All right, all right,” he said, apparently reaching the same conclusion. “I didn’t come here to fight. We need to develop some sort of plan to deal with Annie’s problem. This can’t go on.”

“She isn’t angry with me. You deal with her.” She wasn’t being flippant. Annie’s pain was caused by her father. Bethanne was making an effort to help, but anything she could do seemed more like damage control. Grant had to take some responsibility here.

Grant splayed his fingers through his hair. “I’m afraid Annie might do something to physically hurt Tiff,” he mumbled and shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You’re worried about Tiffany?” Bethanne exploded.

“Damn straight I am. Someone who’d deliberately sabotage her car is one step from doing something physically aggressive.”

“What about Annie?” Bethanne asked, shocked that he could be so self-absorbed. “Aren’t you worried about her? Doesn’t she deserve any concern?”

“Of course I’m worried, but I can’t deal with her. She hates me. At least that’s the impression she’s given me. If you know something I don’t, then I’d appreciate being filled in.”

“That’s the problem,” Bethanne said in a shaky voice. “She desperately loves you and believe it or not, Annie needs her father. It was one thing to divorce me, but you weren’t supposed to divorce your children. When was the last time you talked to your daughter? You used to at least call her every week or two. I understand that’s stopped. Why? When did you last have a conversation with her—or Andrew, for that matter? Need I remind you these are your children, too?”

He looked down at his shoes. “I’ve been busy and—”

“Busy?” she cried. “Do you honestly expect me to consider that a valid excuse?”

“I don’t need you as my conscience. Besides, Annie and Andrew refuse to have anything to do with Tiff. They won’t even come to the condo because she might be there.”

“Talk to Annie,” she advised, setting her pride aside long enough to plead with him. “Call her up and take her to lunch. She needs assurances that you still care about her and that you want to be part of her life. But only if you’re sincere. Don’t just pay her lip service—that’ll do more harm than good.”

He nodded like a petulant child. “All right. I will. I’ll call her in a couple of days.” He hesitated, then gave her a wry smile. “Thanks, Bethanne.”

She shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“How’s Andrew?”

Bethanne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Ask him yourself.”

Grant cast her a chagrined look. “He wasn’t keen to have anything to do with me, with or without Tiff around.”

“Show up for a few of his football games in September, and my guess is he’d be willing to remember you’re his father again.”

Grant seemed to consider that. “Maybe I will.”

In other words, if it didn’t interfere with his schedule and he had nothing better to do.

She waited, thinking it was time he left, but Grant lingered as if there was something else on his mind. “I understand you and Paul Ormond recently got together,” he finally said.

“Who told you that?”

He offered her a half smile. “Word gets around. A guy from the office—you don’t know him—saw the two of you at Anthony’s the other night. What’s that about?”

“How did he know me?” she asked curiously.

“I had your picture on my credenza.”

Past tense, she noticed. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. For two years he’d snuck around behind her back, having an affair, and not once had she gotten wind of it. But she had one date in twenty-two years, and someone reported it to Grant.

“Are you and Paul an item?” he asked.

Bethanne stopped herself just in time. It wasn’t any of his concern who she saw—or dated. Nor did he need to know that Paul had phoned two or three times since and encouraged her in her job search. They were simply friends, but she’d never had a male friend before.

“That’s between Paul and me.”

“In other words, I should mind my own business.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling gleefully. “I think you put it very well a few months ago. I have my own life now, Grant, and it is my life.”

20
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

Courtney felt wretched. An enraged Annie Hamlin sat in the middle of Courtney’s bed. She’d ranted for a good five minutes without taking a breath, still angry almost two weeks after the rave and everything that had happened.

“You had no right to contact Andrew,” Annie finished, whispering fiercely, apparently afraid of being overheard.

Courtney didn’t bother to tell her not to worry, that her grandmother was half-deaf. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to, you know.”

“Andrew says I should thank you, but you can forget that.” She glared at Courtney as if she’d purposely set out to ruin Annie’s life.

“Fine. I’ll forget it.”

“I should’ve known you’d be a goody-goody type.”

“Think what you like, Annie,” she said, unwilling to let the other girl attack her. “But maybe it wouldn’t do you any harm to hear what I have to say.”

“About what?”

Courtney sidestepped the question and got directly to the point. “I know what you’re feeling.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You can’t know.”

“My mother died and—”

Annie’s gaze narrowed. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“No. Now shut up and listen! Your father walked out on you and what you feel isn’t that different from what I felt when my mom was killed.”

“I wish my dad was dead.”

Courtney grabbed the other girl’s shoulders and her fingers dug into Annie’s arms. “No, you don’t! You’re angry and the pain is ripping you up inside, but you don’t wish that. You can’t. My mother is dead and I’d give anything to have her back. Dead is forever, you understand? You haven’t got any idea what it’s like to have your mother alive and laughing one day, and then on some slab in a morgue the next. You can’t possibly know what that’s like.” Tears clouded her eyes. “It’s been four years, and I think about her every single day. Some days it’s every single minute. My mom didn’t want to die, you know. She was meeting a friend for lunch and a truck blew a tire and swerved onto the other side of the road.” She rarely talked about the accident, rarely mentioned it to anyone, but Courtney felt it was vital that Annie understand what she was saying. Courtney had argued with her mother, too. She’d been furious with her a dozen or more times in that last year, but—as she’d just told Annie—she’d give anything she had now, or ever would, to have her mother back.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” Annie shouted, twisting free of her grip.

Courtney no longer cared if Grams was listening to the conversation. She tried another way to reach Annie. “I used to pretend my mom was still alive.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, it’s a reality check.”

“I can’t deal with any more reality than I already am. I just want my life back the way it used to be, with my mom and dad and—” She bit her lower lip and her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve got to go.” In a flash Annie was off the bed. She grabbed her purse. “Just don’t do me any more favors, all right?”

“Whatever,” Courtney muttered. She felt like a failure. It was a risk to contact Andrew that night, and Annie didn’t seem to appreciate how difficult the decision had been. Her only reaction was embarrassment, and that had turned to anger at Courtney. If it hadn’t been for her, Andrew would never have known she was at the rave. On the other hand, Annie could’ve been in serious trouble. Kids had died from ecstasy; Courtney had heard of cases in Chicago.

“Courtney,” Grams shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes,” she shouted back, lazily unfolding her legs and moving off the bed.

“Is everything all right up there? Your friend left in a mighty big rush.”

“Everything’s fine,” Courtney assured her.

“It’s good that you have a friend,” Grams said smiling up at her. “I’m heading out to the Missionary Society Meeting. Do you want to tag along?”

“Would it be okay if I took my bike out instead?” She really didn’t enjoy sorting and packing clothes to ship to China. Perhaps in a few years chatting with Grams’s friends would be stimulating, but currently Courtney found it uninspiring. All they talked about were their aches and pains.

“Where are you going?” Grams asked.

After three years during which her father had given her practically free rein, being accountable to her grandmother was a drag. “I thought I’d stop off at the yarn store and deliver those patches you knit.” That was a destination and a purpose Grams would approve of.

“Oh, sure, that’d be fine. Say hello to Lydia for me.”

“Will do.”

Grabbing her helmet and gloves, Courtney bounded down the stairs. The frustration she felt was nearly overwhelming. She’d tried to do the right thing for Annie and those insults were all the thanks she got. Biking might give her a chance to vent her annoyance.

It didn’t help that Courtney saw she’d gained a pound when she stepped on the scale that morning. After a solid week of denial, she should’ve lost at least that much and instead she’d gained.

“What time will you be back?” Grams wanted to know as Courtney came through the kitchen on her way to the garage.

“Soon.”

“You’ve got money with you?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t bother hanging around to listen to any other questions. She wanted to escape and longed to feel the wind on her face and the sun on her neck as she pumped those pedals. The hell with Annie. She’d tried to help, tried to talk to her; she’d told her more than she’d ever shared with anyone about her mother, but it’d been a waste of time.

Courtney was breathless when she reached Blossom Street. As she turned the corner, A Good Yarn came into view and so did the French café on the other side of the street. The front window had a display of pastries.

Slowing the bike, she coasted to a stop outside the yarn store. Forcing her eyes away from the bakery window, she glanced into the front window of the shop and noticed Whiskers curled up, fast asleep. Lydia was busy with a customer; Margaret was, too. Even if Courtney did go directly inside, neither would have time to talk to her. Her gaze eagerly returned to the bakery.

Just last week Bethanne had talked about the chocolate éclairs and how delicious they were. Lydia had taken up the subject, raving about the croissants, but those éclairs were her favorite, too, she’d said. She made it sound as if she ate them by the dozen. If so, she hadn’t gained an ounce.

Courtney had practically starved to death all week and she’d gained weight. It was hard enough to stay on this P diet; not seeing results was a case of adding insult to injury. Or was it the other way around? She could never remember.

She peered inside the yarn store again and then looked over at the bakery. The pastries weren’t the only thing Lydia had bragged about. She’d made sure everyone knew that a girl from her original knitting class was one of the bakers. Her name was Alix, and she’d made a big deal about how it was spelled with an i instead of an e.

Alix baked in the morning and waited behind the counter some afternoons. She also attended class at the culinary institute, so she must be good at making those delectable-sounding treats. The five-dollar bill in Courtney’s pocket felt like it was on fire. Éclairs didn’t start with the letter P. Okay, pastry did, but she was willing to overlook that minor detail.

Driven by her desire to taste something sweet, Courtney walked her bike across the street and parked it against the side of the building. The girl behind the counter didn’t seem the knitting type. Then Courtney read her name tag. Alix with an i. Yup, just like Grams always said, appearances could be deceiving.

“You’re Alix?” she asked.

The other girl nodded. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not. I’m in one of Lydia’s knitting classes.”

She immediately brightened. “You wouldn’t happen to be Courtney, would you?”

Surprised, Courtney nodded. “Lydia mentioned me?”

“Yeah. Do you know what’s going on with her and Brad?”

Courtney raised her eyes from the glass case, where the chocolate éclairs oozed rich custard and sat on a platter decorated with a paper doily. “Going on?” she repeated.

“Yeah, since they broke up.”

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

“I hope they patch things up.” Alix sounded genuinely concerned.

“How much for one of the chocolate éclairs?” They weren’t all that big, so perhaps she should order two.

Alix told her, and Courtney calculated how much it would cost for two, with tax. Plus a Coke, and not the diet variety, either. She was sick of drinking sugar-free soda. If she was going on a sugar high, then she might as well go the whole way. Why cheat herself out of a soda?

“Lydia said you’ve been losing weight. My hat’s off to you. It’s hard,” Alix said softly.

Courtney nodded.

“I make a mean low-fat, sugar-free chocolate latte.”

Courtney’s mouth was watering for that éclair. “A latte?” She paused to consider her choices and realized she was being offered far more than an incentive to stay on her eating plan. Friendship had no calories, and it was the special on Alix’s menu.

“I’ll take that latte,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage.

Alix smiled. “Good. I’ll make my best one ever.”

Courtney sighed with relief. Without Alix’s encouragement she probably would’ve given in and ordered the éclairs and eaten them so fast they’d disappear before she’d even tasted them. Then, they’d reappear on her thighs.

“Thanks,” she said when Alix handed her the latte. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime. Come back whenever you want. And if you find out anything about Brad and Lydia, let me know, all right?”

“Will do,” Courtney promised. Her first sip of the latte was divine. This was just as good as Alix had promised. And latte didn’t start with the letter P.

21
CHAPTER

“The act of knitting is a meditation, for the work of the hands compels the mind to rest, and gives free rein to movements of the soul.”

—Author unknown, contributed by Darlene Hayes, www.handjiveknits.com.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Tuesday morning when Margaret showed up for work, I knew right away that something was wrong. I hoped my sister would tell me. No matter what, though, I was determined not to pry it out of Margaret. Our relationship had been less strained, but I suspect that was primarily because of the situation between Brad and me.

We’d arrived at an unspoken agreement. I didn’t inquire about Matt’s job search and she didn’t mention Brad. It was an uneasy truce. I knew she was curious and no doubt concerned; I felt the same way about her. I kept quiet about the fact that Brad had phoned me one evening. When his name came up on Caller ID, I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t. It occurred to me later that the call might be from Cody, and in some ways, that would’ve been even more difficult. I hadn’t guessed how much I’d miss him.

With the passing of time, I’d begun to understand what Brad had meant about giving his son a family. As much as I love Cody, and I do, I had to accept that I’ll never be his mother. Brad loves him, and despite his feelings for me or for that matter Janice, his son had to come first. I could only love and admire him more for the strength of his devotion to Cody.

When Brad divulged that he was talking to Janice, I was too hurt and angry to appreciate his sacrifice. But I came to realize that this wasn’t about Brad and his ex-wife, it was about Cody. It’d always been about Cody. Brad loves me, yet he was willing to let me go in order to give Cody back his mother.

Strangely, Brad’s efforts to reconcile with Janice helped me grasp the depth of my own father’s love for me. Dad made sacrifices daily; sacrifices I came to expect because I was so sick and so needy. Not until he died did I appreciate everything my father had been to me.

I would’ve loved to discuss Brad and Cody with my dad. He was always so wise and loving; he would’ve known just the right thing to say. Even now, I’d give anything to hear his voice again, to feel the comfort of his presence.

“Looks like we need to order more sock yarn,” Margaret said, breaking into my thoughts.

“Already?” The self-patterning yarn seemed to go out of the shop almost as fast as it came in.

My class was going well. I’d wondered if holding it on a Tuesday afternoon was a mistake. It’s the first day of my work week and there always seemed to be a hundred things that required my attention. But I decided it was actually an advantage; the small class size meant I could develop real relationships with all three women, just as I had in my original class.

During one class, Elise described the awkward situation with her ex-husband. Frankly, I was surprised she’d told us that much. She’d always been so restrained. I can’t tell you how shocked we all were when she revealed that Maverick was a professional gambler. The minute that was out, the conversation became lively indeed. What an interesting combination! A librarian and a gambler. This was the stuff of romance novels—but unfortunately there hadn’t been a happy ending for Elise.

Bethanne Hamlin had ex-husband problems, too. But she was growing more self-confident every week. We could all see it; I’d say it even showed in her knitting. She was experiencing some difficulties with her teenage daughter, but she’d only touched on that subject briefly. I thought she might be afraid of saying too much because of Courtney, who’d become friends with Annie.

Speaking of Courtney—we all loved her. What a charming girl and such a typical teenager. She talked about her father a great deal and was as excited to get an e-mail or a letter from him as she would an invitation to the senior prom. I was grateful she seemed to be making friends. Although she didn’t say anything about it, I had the feeling she liked Andrew Hamlin, Bethanne’s son. Andrew was the school’s football star, the quarterback, and I was sure he could date just about any girl at Washington High. I also figured Courtney probably didn’t stand much of a chance with him. He’d want slim, trim and stylish—the cheerleader type. Courtney was losing weight, but she still had a few pounds to go.

On Tuesday, just before one, I heard the bell over the door and immediately glanced up to see Bethanne walk in. She hadn’t even reached her seat before she pulled out her half-knitted sock and held it up for inspection.

“Notice, I successfully turned the heel,” she announced. “I feel like I should get a gold star for this. It took hours.”

“Then you did it wrong,” Margaret offered from the other side of the shop.

I was irritated by her comment, but smiled encouragingly at Bethanne. “It gets easier the more often you do it, so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. Well, I was at first because it just didn’t look right, but I followed the instructions and everything came out looking exactly the way it should. I knew one thing—I wasn’t giving up until I got it right.”

“Good for you!” I said, resisting the urge to hug her. I really was very proud of Bethanne. She’d come a long way in this class and I wasn’t just talking about knitting.

“I wish I could do as well in my job search,” she murmured dejectedly.

Elise arrived moments after Bethanne, and they sat across from one other and compared socks. Elise had knit socks before and turned the heel, but never on two circular needles, which requires a different technique.

“This is a lovely job,” I said, studying Elise’s work. Every stitch was perfectly formed. I felt she was a very purposeful knitter—and I had the impression that was exactly how she went about her life, too.

Courtney was the last one to get there. She rode her bike and parked it outside the shop, chaining it to the light post. I could tell she’d lost more weight. I wanted to say something about how good she looked, but I was afraid my compliment might embarrass her.

“Sorry I’m late,” Courtney said, bursting into the shop like a sudden squall. She removed the helmet and shrugged off her backpack as she took her seat. Within a minute or two she was set up with her knitting, ready to learn.

“How did everyone do?” I asked. We’d already reached the most difficult stage of knitting socks and that was the gusset. In my opinion, the technique has been simplified by the two-needle method, but there are still knitters who prefer the four or five double-pointed needle approach. I know that socks can also be knit on a single 40-inch needle in what is known as the “magic loop” method; personally, I’m most comfortable knitting and teaching with the two circular needles.

I carefully examined everyone’s half-completed first sock and found that my students had done very well. We always went through this procedure, almost a little ritual, even if I’d already seen their work. There was something satisfying about it, maybe because of the way it formally acknowledged everyone’s effort. Sitting with them, I described the next step of the process, then left them to knit.

“I just wish getting a job was this easy,” Bethanne commented, knitting the stitches from one needle to the other.

Elise looked at her. “I’ve been giving this matter of a job some thought. Where have you applied?”

“Everywhere,” she cried, and her voice fell with discouragement. “Everywhere I can think of,” she amended. “The truth is, I hate not being available for my children.”

“Your children are old enough to be on their own, aren’t they?” Margaret said, feeling free to leap into the conversation despite helping a paying customer. “I’ve got two daughters,” she continued, oblivious to my frown, “and I leave them.”

Bethanne considered that for a moment. “Do you feel good about it?”

Margaret shrugged. “Actually, their father’s home this summer and I’m glad of it. We’d both rather he was working, but he’s been able to spend time with the girls and gotten much closer to them.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m afraid to leave Annie alone,” Bethanne said. I saw Courtney give her a quick glance. “Annie’s not … quite herself and … well, after the upheaval in their lives, I’d rather be around to keep an eye on her. It isn’t that I don’t want to work—I do! But at the same time, I want to give an employer my best and I won’t be able to do that if I’m constantly worried about what’s happening at home.”

I remembered how hard Brad found this situation as a single father. Cody was eight this year, and he hated the idea of going to day care, but he was too young to be on his own.

“So, Elise—you said you’d been thinking about this?” Bethanne murmured.

“I have.”

“I’ve given it my best shot,” Bethanne said, shaking her head. “I’ve applied for everything from waiting tables—I’m so grateful they didn’t hire me—to a receptionist for a dentist. And just about everything in between.”

“You really weren’t interested in that job at the dentist’s either, were you?” Elise asked.

“Not really.”

Elise laughed. “That’s what I thought. No one will hire you with that attitude.”

“But I need a job—and soon—otherwise I’m going to end up homeless,” she said grimly.

I knew that must be an exaggeration; still, I understood how worried she was about finances. I wished there was enough business so I could hire her myself, but there wasn’t and I couldn’t.

“Every time we talked about this, you said your only real skill was throwing parties, especially kids’ birthday parties.”

There’d been various discussions about the parties Bethanne had planned for her children through the years. She obviously did have a knack for it.

Bethanne nodded, with a woeful shrug. “Unfortunately, no one’s going to hire me to do that.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Elise said.

Bethanne’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

“My grandson’s birthday is coming up soon,” Elise continued. “My daughter’s a talented woman, but she doesn’t have a creative bone in her body. I’d like to hire you to help her with Luke’s birthday party.”

Bethanne immediately sat up straighter. “You mean to say you’d actually pay me to do this?”

“Within reason, yes,” Elise assured her. I gathered Elise didn’t have much extra cash, so I found this extremely generous.

“I have lots of wonderful ideas for little boys.” Bethanne was excited now. “What does Luke like?”

“Currently, it’s dinosaurs.”

“Perfect. I’ll get dinosaur eggs, fill them with prizes and bury them. The boys can go on a dig, if that won’t damage your daughter’s lawn or garden. Otherwise I’ll simply hide them.”

Elise smiled. “That sounds good. And I’ll find out if it’s okay to bury the eggs.”

“I know!” Bethanne said happily. “I could make a dinosaur cake, too—it can’t be that hard. Luke’s probably way beyond Barney, but I’ll bet he’d enjoy a purple cake.”

Last year about this time, I’d knit Cody a sweater with a big dinosaur on the front and he’d loved it so much, he’d slept with it on. The memory brought a twinge of pain that I did my best to ignore.

“I’d be happy to help with the party,” Bethanne said, but then her enthusiasm dwindled. “It’s just that I don’t think I’d be able to support myself by throwing kids’ birthday parties.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Elise said again.

“Amelia’s about to have her first birthday, and I know Jacqueline’s hoping to make an event of it,” I threw in for good measure. “I’m sure if you approached her with a few ideas, she’d hire you.”

“Do you really think so?” Bethanne looked around the table for encouragement. Everyone nodded and made encouraging remarks—even Margaret.

“I know so.” I’d never seen Bethanne more animated. Jacqueline had the money to pay for something really special, too. “Call her. I’ll give you her number.”

“I will,” Bethanne promised. Her needles clicked energetically as she started describing possibilities for little Amelia’s party. “How about a teddy bears’ picnic? Or a storytelling party? Or—”

Margaret walked over with the phone number written on a sheet of paper. My sister is nothing if not efficient.

“I can help you,” Courtney offered. “I mean, if you need an assistant, and Annie and Andrew are busy. Most days I have a bunch of free time and you wouldn’t have to pay me or anything.”

Bethanne’s eyes filled with tears. “That is so sweet of you.”

“Honestly, I’m glad to do it.”

Bethanne glanced from one woman to the next. “Thank you all so much. Especially you, Elise. You’ve given me a wonderful idea and I just love it. This is something I’m really, really good at, and I know I can make it a success.” Impulsively she put down her knitting and sprang up to hug the older woman.

I was delighted by her brand-new confidence and wanted to cheer her on. “I was impressed with the music video party you threw for Annie when she turned twelve,” I said. Bethanne had told us about this a few weeks ago. “I can just imagine how much fun those girls had dressing up as their favorite rock stars and then having a video made of them singing to a karaoke machine. What a wonderful keepsake.”

“Or the pirate party for Andrew when he was seven,” Courtney added. “It was so clever to actually bury treasure at the beach.”

“It was fun drawing up the treasure maps,” Bethanne said, smiling. “One for each boy. The treasures were quite elaborate, too. I’d collected junk jewelry, and bought chocolate coins and eye patches. It was a great party. In fact, it was that party that made me realize how much I enjoyed this. Over the years, I’ve helped some of my friends with their kids’ parties, but I never dreamed anyone would actually pay me for doing it.”

“That was Andrew’s favorite party, he says. I mean, he still talks about it.” Courtney grinned. “I wouldn’t have minded a party like that myself.”

Elise nodded. “And it’s absolutely perfect for little boys.”

“Thanks.” Bethanne nodded. “Grant got involved, too. He bought a huge toy parrot and dressed up as Long John Silver.”

I could see that remembering her husband in those better times was making her feel nostalgic.

“I think Elise might really be on to something here,” Margaret said. “There’s a market for this kind of—”

The door opened, interrupting her, and in walked a distinguished-looking older gentleman. I don’t get many men in the shop. There are definitely male knitters, but most of the yarn I sell is to women.

Elise raised her head up when the bell chimed and went pale. “Maverick,” she whispered.

“Hello, everyone,” he said without the least hesitation. He seemed completely at ease in the shop, although not all men are comfortable in such a female environment. “I’m here for Elise.” He looked in her direction and I noticed the way his eyes softened. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d give you a ride home.”

“I—I’ll be a while yet,” she said, blushing. Flustered, she dropped a stitch and then did a marvelous job of picking it up again.

I enjoyed watching the two of them. They might be divorced, but it was plain they still had strong feelings for each other. This was an intriguing development—and not something Elise had mentioned. I suppose I’d had an image of a professional gambler and to be honest, Maverick didn’t fit the picture. With his white hair and beard, my first thought was that he resembled Charlie Rich, the country singer. On closer examination, I saw that he was taller and more solidly built.

“Don’t rush on my account,” Maverick told her. “I’m parked outside. I’ll wait there.”

Elise gazed down at her knitting. “Ah … okay.”

The class continued for another fifteen minutes and then gradually, one by one, my students left, chatting about next week’s session. I found it interesting that the entire group had decided to knit socks for men. Bethanne’s were probably for her son. Courtney had said hers would be a gift for her dad. And Elise? My guess was that her ex-husband would receive them.

“That was a wonderful suggestion Elise had for Bethanne,” I commented to Margaret as I straightened the class area. I still felt good about what had happened; it seemed like a step toward real friendship.

Suddenly I saw that my sister was crying.

“Margaret?”

She brushed the tears away, obviously upset and embarrassed that I’d seen them.

“What is it?” I asked, despite my earlier resolve. “Tell me.”

“We got a notice in the mail yesterday,” she said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear. “Matt didn’t know I saw it. He takes care of all the bills, and I just assumed we were managing all right. I’ve cut back as much as I can. I know he has, too, but apparently … Oh, Lydia, we’re so far behind on the mortgage payments that we’re in danger of losing the house.”

“Oh, no.” Every penny I had was invested in the store or I would’ve immediately offered to help.

“I tried to talk it over with Matt. I know he was just trying to protect me, but—but I’m his wife. He should tell me. When I told him that, he said I had enough on my mind without worrying about this too.”

“How much do you need?” I asked.

“The letter said we had until next Monday to come up with ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh, Margaret. I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“I know, I know … Matt says everything will work out, and … and I’m sure it will. I didn’t mean to burden you with our problems—it’s just that it was such a shock….”

Although Margaret tried to sound hopeful, I didn’t have a good feeling about this. My sister was about to lose her home and I couldn’t do a thing to help.

22
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise was deep in thought as she tore lettuce leaves for the dinner salad. Her grandsons were at the small neighborhood park with Maverick. Luke and John dragged him there every chance they got, and he was always agreeable. If he’d been half as good a husband and father as he was a grandfather, the marriage might’ve lasted.

Although she hated to admit it, Elise had begun to enjoy Maverick’s company. Relying on him for anything, even casual friendship, was dangerous, as she very well knew. In fact, no one knew that better than she did. But over the last few weeks, he’d managed to break down her determination to avoid him. Little by little, he’d erased her resentment and doubt. He’d done it not with extravagant promises or declarations but through his actions—especially in the way he loved Aurora and his grandchildren. He respected Elise’s feelings, never argued with her or defended himself. He seemed sincere. She didn’t want to trust him, knew she shouldn’t allow him into her life, but nevertheless found herself drawn to him.

The timer in the laundry room went off and Elise dried her hands before transferring the freshly laundered clothes from the dryer to a clothes basket. Aurora was meeting with Bethanne about Luke’s birthday party. She’d loved Elise’s suggestion about hiring Bethanne and insisted on paying the cost herself. She and Elise had engaged in a good-natured argument about it and finally decided Elise would pay for the cake.

Realizing Aurora would be pressed for time, Elise had started dinner. She’d already prepared the sauce and grated cheese for a family favorite that went by the rather inelegant name of “spaghetti pie.”

In a few minutes she’d folded her grandsons’ play clothes. Rather than leave them in the laundry area, she carried them to the boys’ room. Since Maverick’s arrival, she’d stayed away from that room. If she wanted him to respect her privacy, then it was important she afford him the same rights.

She opened the top dresser drawer and discovered that Aurora had given it to Maverick. Instantly she closed it and found that the second and third drawers were for Luke and John’s clothes. She quickly and neatly put away the shorts and T-shirts. Elise knew what she should do next—turn around and walk away. But she couldn’t resist…. She’d noticed the edge of a picture frame in Maverick’s drawer. It was none of her business whose picture it was or why he’d buried it at the bottom of a drawer.

Turning swiftly, she started toward the door, then pivoted back, heart pounding. On the small table next to the bottom bunk, she saw a book Maverick was currently reading, and a coffee cup. But no photographs.

Suddenly she couldn’t stand it any longer. Why torment herself like this? One peek would tell her whose picture it was, and her curiosity would be satisfied. Sliding open the drawer, she stared down. The edge of the frame stuck out from under his T-shirts. The frame itself was silver and slightly tarnished.

One look, she decided again. Okay, it would be a violation of his privacy, but a minor one. Not that she usually approved of such … such subjective morality. No, she’d be honest about this. Looking at the photograph was wrong. But she was going to do it, anyway. She wouldn’t touch it. All she’d do was lift the shirts. Knowing Maverick, it was probably a picture from some blackjack tournament he’d won.

Pulse hammering, she lifted the shirts with one finger—and froze. Her lungs refused to function. The photograph was of her.

He’d taken the picture shortly after she’d learned she was pregnant with Aurora. They’d been walking through a nearby park, and he’d snapped it just as she turned from examining a rosebush. Her eyes shone with love and excitement. This was before the disillusionment had truly taken hold, before she’d been forced to face the truth about the man she’d married. But at that moment, her heart full of happiness unlike any she’d known before or since, he’d captured her image. She’d been a woman in love, a woman dreaming of the future, of her baby, of being a family.

Elise stared at the woman in the photo and bit her lip, surprised by the flood of memories. Of emotions.

“Do you remember when I took that?” Maverick asked, standing just inside the bedroom.

Elise gasped, leaping back from the chest of drawers, hand flying to her heart. She was shocked that she hadn’t heard him enter the house. Even more than shocked, she was embarrassed that he’d caught her looking at her own photo. Hidden in his drawer. In his room.

“I … I apologize,” she murmured, unable to look at him.

“For what? Snooping?”

Mortified, she kept her head turned away and nodded. “I … I should never—I am so sorry. I can only imagine what you must be thinking.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

All she wanted was to escape. “I don’t recall your question.”

“I asked,” he said slowly and deliberately, “if you remembered when I took that picture.”

Rather than answer verbally, she nodded.

“I’ve carried it with me all these years,” he said quietly. “But then it started to fall apart so I bought this frame.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted you with me.”

“We’re divorced,” she reminded him sharply. She didn’t want to remember what it felt like to abandon herself to loving him. She was acutely aware of how close he was, only footsteps away. She smelled the scent of his aftershave, the same brand he’d worn when they were married. She didn’t recall the name but the fresh, woodsy smell wafted toward her like an aphrodisiac. Against her will, she swayed closer, afraid for those few seconds that she’d collapse at his feet.

Maverick walked into the room and stood before her. “I told you this already,” he said. He placed his index finger under her chin and raised her head until their eyes met. “I loved you then. I’ve loved you all this time. I love you now.”

The thickness in her throat made it impossible to speak, so she shook her head.

“I know,” he whispered, “It wasn’t enough—it isn’t enough. But it’s all I ever had.”

She realized he would have kissed her if not for the arrival of Luke and John. The boys burst into the room like a tornado touching down, all arms and legs, fighting and furious. Apparently they’d gotten into a squabble while putting their bikes in the garage.

With obvious reluctance, Maverick broke away from her and immediately took charge of the situation. Elise used the opportunity to escape. Returning to the kitchen, she gripped the counter with both hands, breathing hard. Her ex-husband had been about to kiss her, and that was shock enough, but knowing she would’ve let him made her knees go weak.

Thankfully, she had something to occupy her hands. Elise finished the salad and vigorously stirred the tomato and meat sauce simmering on the stove. She then put on a large pot of water to boil the spaghetti noodles. Everything would go together in a casserole dish, along with the grated cheese.

When the garage door closed twenty minutes later, she sighed with relief; either Aurora or David was home.

It was her daughter who stepped in from the garage. When she saw that Elise had begun dinner, Aurora let out a cry of delight.

“Oh, Mom, thank you so much!” She hugged her mother tightly.

“Thank me for what?” she asked. “Dinner? I try to help as much as I can.” As she spoke, she drained the spaghetti and assembled the ingredients, stirring in the cheese last.

“No, I mean, yes, thanks for that, but Mom, thank you for telling me about Bethanne. She’s fabulous! She had a dozen different ideas, but we’re going with the dinosaur motif.” Beaming, she hugged her again. “Until I talked to her, I was planning to take everyone out for pizza and ice cream, and that would’ve been fine. But for the same amount of money, Luke is going to have a spectacular party that he’ll always remember.”

Elise’s instincts had been right. Busy parents would be willing to pay for a party that was different and specially designed around their children’s interests.

“Gayle from across the street went with me and she booked a party, too, even though Sonja’s birthday isn’t for another month.”

“That’s wonderful.” Elise smiled broadly. Opening the oven door, she slid the round casserole dish inside.

“What’s up?” Maverick asked, coming into the kitchen. His gaze went directly to Elise.

“One of the women in my knitting group needs a job. It’s complicated,” she said, not wanting to go into the long drawn-out story of why it was so important that Bethanne find employment.

“Gayle was so excited she called three friends on the drive home,” Aurora explained.

“I’m so pleased,” Elise murmured.

“You should be. Bethanne told me this was all your idea.”

Elise blushed, and wanting to deflect the attention, said, “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“What are we having?” Luke asked suspiciously. He was the finicky eater in the family.

Maverick peered into the oven and turned to face his grandson. “It looks like worms and blood to me.”

“Maverick Beaumont!” Elise cried, horrified he’d say such a thing.

Luke’s eyes widened with delight as he raced into the other room to share the news with his brother.

“Better known as spaghetti pie,” Maverick informed his daughter.

“Oh.”

Elise smiled and admired Maverick for being so clever.

“I’ll set the table,” he offered.

“It’s early yet,” Aurora said. “Why don’t you and Mom collect a bouquet of flowers from the backyard and I’ll use them as a centerpiece. My roses are beautiful this summer.”

Any other time, Elise would’ve objected and either given the task to Maverick or insisted on cutting the flowers herself. She should have then, but she didn’t.

Together they went into the backyard, where Aurora’s roses bloomed against the high wooden fence. For their first anniversary David had given her an antique rosebush and year after year it had flourished. Now, on this July afternoon, the fragrance of roses perfumed the air.

Elise inhaled deeply. “I’ll get the—”

Maverick stopped her by taking her hand and entwining his fingers with hers. “Let’s just stroll around the yard for a few minutes. Would that be all right?”

“Yes,” she said, barely recognizing her own voice. “That would be fine.”

But it was more than fine.

23
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

“The thing is,” Bethanne said excitedly, reaching for another tortilla chip, “Grant was right.”

Paul frowned. “Right about what?”

“About how I should find a way to support myself. He won’t be financially responsible for me much longer, as he’s frequently pointed out. A couple of months ago, he told me to use my God-given talents to find a job. He was talking about childcare and so on, and he meant it sarcastically. At the time I was so furious with him I couldn’t see straight, but you know what? He was right.”

Paul grinned, and once again Bethanne was struck by the fact that while he wasn’t a handsome man, he was an appealing one, easy to talk to and be around. They’d met for dinner after her first major birthday party, for Elise’s grandson. Because there’d been so little time, she’d had to arrange the party quickly, but everything had fallen nicely into place. The little boys had loved the dinosaur egg hunt, not to mention games like “pin the tail on the dinosaur,” which she’d created herself with Annie’s help.

“Did I mention I got three new bookings from Luke’s party? I’m also going to do one—a really elaborate one—for a lady I met at the yarn store. They all want ‘my special touch’ for their kids’ parties,” she said. She dipped her chip in the thick salsa before bringing it to her mouth. The most thrilling part of all this was that with her clients’ deposits, she had enough money for Andrew to attend football camp. She’d nearly burst with pride when she handed it over to him.

“I believe you did say something about upcoming parties.” Paul raised a salsa-laden chip.

“More than once?” She had the feeling she’d probably repeated the same information a dozen times, but she couldn’t help it. This was the most wonderful thing to happen to her in … years.

“As the kids got older, Grant used to think all the fuss I made over birthday parties was a waste of money,” she explained. “Who would’ve guessed his wife would make a career of it.” She stopped herself. “Ex-wife,” she corrected. She sighed. “Will I ever get used to saying that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t yet.”

She refused to let that one slip destroy her mood. “I was really glad you phoned.”

“I wanted to see how everything went with the party.”

“I’m so happy and excited, and this … this is just great. I love Mexican food.”

“Me, too.” He reached for his margarita and licked the salt from the edge of his glass before taking a sip.

The sight of his tongue unnerved her. Bethanne immediately looked away, then chided herself for being silly. But perhaps it was a natural reaction. It’d been so long since she’d made love, she could hardly even remember.

“Do you miss …” She hesitated to say it aloud, so she leaned toward him and whispered. “Sex?”

“Sex.” Paul’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

They both laughed as if it was the funniest thing they’d heard in ages.

“Really,” she pressed. “I want to know.”

He nodded. “Big time. What about you?”

She nodded, too. She couldn’t ask that question of anyone else, and it made her appreciate their friendship even more. They felt safe with each other; safe in speaking honestly about their anger and pain. There was something healing in that kind of openness.

“How are things with Annie and Andrew?” he asked, deftly changing the subject.

Bethanne was on her second margarita, which she knew had loosened her inhibitions, probably past the point of decorum. “I’ve had some long conversations with Annie since I learned she put sugar in Tiffany’s gas tank.” At first Annie had tried to deny it, but when she broke down and admitted what she’d done, they’d clung to each other, Bethanne’s heart breaking for her daughter.

Annie had agreed to see the therapist, and after two visits, felt she had a better perspective on the family’s situation and her own feelings. There’d been several tearful discussions between mother and daughter. Annie seemed better now, more like her old self, and Bethanne sensed that her daughter could move forward, with or without her father.

“Has Grant had a chance to talk to Annie?” Paul asked.

Bethanne had mentioned his most recent visit, although she’d left out his inquiry about her relationship with Paul.

“He phoned the house.” Bethanne shrugged. “I don’t know what he said, but Annie was on and off the phone in about two minutes, so it couldn’t have been much of a conversation.”

“From what I understand, the insurance paid for the damage to Tiffany’s engine,” Paul told her.

“Did she contact you?” Bethanne asked. Paul rarely mentioned his ex-wife.

“No, but our agent told me about it. It’s a good thing Tiff continued the coverage for vandalism.”

Bethanne nodded. She wouldn’t put it past Tiffany to have Annie arrested; even worse, she wasn’t sure Grant would stand up for their daughter. Yes, Annie had been wrong and she needed to accept the consequences of her actions, but Bethanne couldn’t bear the thought of her daughter being prosecuted. At the therapist’s suggestion, Annie had written Tiffany a letter of apology and Bethanne hoped the matter would end there.

The waitress came by, and Bethanne ordered the fajita salad, while Paul chose the chicken enchilada plate. He waited until she’d left the table before resuming the conversation.

“How’s Annie now?” he asked.

“She’s dealing with a lot,” Bethanne replied. “She’s coming through it, though, and I think the worst is over, but it’s been a difficult time for her.”

“She needs a friend,” Paul said. “Someone who really understands.”

“I agree, but—” Bethanne stopped in midsentence. “Yes.

She does.”

Paul laughed softly. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

Bethanne sat back in her chair. “She already has one. Only, my daughter is a lot like her mother and isn’t always aware of what’s right in front of her.”

“You seem to be full of good news tonight,” he teased.

She giggled. “I’m full of something, all right.” Suddenly she reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Oh, my goodness,” she cried, shocked into momentary silence.

“What?” Paul asked in concern.

“Paul, I just realized that I’m happy. I’m actually happy. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again, but I do. I really do.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully.

Bethanne leaned toward him. “Has it happened for you yet?”

He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Be honest,” she told him.

“Not yet,” he admitted with a faint smile, “but I can feel it approaching.”

“Good.” She felt better knowing that he was hopeful enough to anticipate the return of joy.

“Seeing you makes me happy,” he confessed.

“Thank you.” Bethanne sipped her margarita and sighed. “That’s sweet.”

“I think about you a lot, Bethanne. About us both.”

“Us.” She choked a little as she swallowed her drink.

“What would you think of the two of us dating?”

She frowned. She’d never asked, but assumed she was older than Paul, possibly by as much as ten years. “I … I like you as a friend, Paul, but as for this dating idea—I don’t know. I’m afraid it might change our whole relationship and I wouldn’t want that. I want things to stay the way they are.”

He shrugged with apparent nonchalance. “That’s all right.”

“Don’t take offense, please. I couldn’t bear it if you did. You’re my friend and I treasure our times together, but …”

“Just think about us dating, all right?”

“Okay, but … Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He appeared to relax then. “I’m glad, Bethanne. You’re exactly the kind of woman I can imagine myself with.”

She glanced around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “This is because I asked you about sex, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said abruptly. “This has to do with the fact that I really enjoy being with you. Not you, the ex-wife of the man my ex-wife left me for, but you, the person I’ve come to know and trust.”

“Oh.” After two margaritas, she found it difficult to frame a response.

“That surprises you?”

“No.” Bethanne answered from her heart. “The truth is, I find your interest a very big compliment. For now, I’m more comfortable just being friends, but I’m willing to see where things go.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Bethanne,” he said in a serious tone.

“That’s the lack of sex talking,” she teased.

“Hmm—that could easily be fixed,” he joked back.

Bethanne giggled. “I think it’s time we cut off the margaritas.”

Paul smiled. “Let’s not be hasty. The conversation’s just getting good.”

24
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

It’d been a pleasant surprise to hear from Annie, especially after the way their last meeting had ended, with Annie storming out of Courtney’s bedroom. Courtney had wanted to ask Bethanne about her during knitting class. She hadn’t, because she didn’t want to put Annie’s mother on the spot.

Courtney was afraid for the girl, afraid of what she might do. She’d tried to talk to her, to help her, and explain that she understood—she’d gone through this horrible emotional pain herself. But Annie had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t interested.

Then, on a Monday afternoon, after no contact in almost two weeks, Annie had phoned and invited Courtney to her house. Her grandmother dropped her off at the Hamlins’ on her way to the church, where Vera volunteered at the library once a month. Before she moved to Seattle, Courtney had assumed her grandmother sat in front of the television and knit most afternoons. Boy, had she been wrong. Vera was at the pool four mornings a week and ate a robust breakfast. Then she worked in her yard and garden. She probably spent as many hours doing volunteer work, including various church committees, as she would’ve spent on a full-time job.

As Grams drove off, Courtney stood on the sidewalk and examined Annie’s house. She immediately liked the brick structure with its steep front steps, rounded door and the gable that jutted out over the small porch. It reminded her of homes in some Chicago neighborhoods.

Homesickness rushed through her. Chicago was where she had friends, where everything was familiar. Courtney hated having to rebuild her life in her senior year of high school. She’d worked for eleven years to reach this point, and she’d looked forward to being with her friends, some of whom she’d known nearly her entire life.

She found it hard not to feel sorry for herself, but Courtney knew, and had long ago accepted, that this sacrifice was necessary. Julianna had recently reminded Courtney that next year, when she left for college, she’d be experiencing the same kind of dislocation, so in essence Courtney was simply making the move a year earlier than she normally would. She’d be that much more prepared for college, Julianna said, and Courtney appreciated her sister’s insight. She relied on the contact with her family, especially Julianna, to ward off feelings of isolation.

Annie opened the door before Courtney had even rung the bell. “I saw your grandmother pull up,” she said. She wore tight shorts, a loose T-shirt and big fuzzy slippers.

And she wasn’t smiling. Their conversation had been short, and she wondered if it’d been prompted by Bethanne or if Annie was sincere about wanting to see her. At the time, Courtney had been too grateful to question the other girl’s motives.

“How’s it going?” Courtney asked, walking into the house.

“All right, I guess.” Annie turned and headed up the stairs.

Courtney followed her, although she wished she could look around a bit more. The house was beautiful, with cream-colored walls, furniture upholstered in dark reds and greens, shining wood floors, simple but expensive-looking area rugs. Fresh flowers graced the mantel. As she’d expected, Bethanne had gorgeous taste.

Photographs lined the wall, and she paused long enough to look at the family portrait, obviously taken in better times. Andrew resembled his father, with deep blue eyes and a strong square chin, and Annie took after her mother. “Where is everyone?” she asked, trudging up the carpeted stairs.

“Out,” Annie responded. “Why? Is that a problem?”

Courtney decided to ignore the lack of welcome. “It’s fine with me.”

“Good.” Annie had reached the top of the stairs and frowned when she saw Courtney regarding the framed portraits. “I told Mom to throw those away, but she wouldn’t do it.”

The glass in the most recent family photograph was cracked, and Courtney wondered if Annie had tried to destroy it. “There’s pictures of my mother all over our house in Chicago, too.” Or there had been before the house was rented. “I used to come home, all excited about something, and rush into the house. Then as soon as I saw Mom’s photo I’d start to cry.” Talking about it still had that effect on her, and she turned aside to blot her eyes with her sleeve.

Annie didn’t respond for a moment, and when she did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper. “When Dad first left, I thought for sure he’d be back. I hated him for leaving us. I wanted to … to punish him, and at the same time, I wanted him here, the way he’d always been.” She looked away as if she’d said more than she’d intended.

“I didn’t cry at my mom’s funeral,” Courtney confessed. “Everyone was sobbing and carrying on. Even my dad broke down.” It was difficult to tell anyone this, even now, but she felt Annie would understand.

“Why not?” Annie asked.

“I think I must’ve been in shock. So many people came to the funeral and there was all this talk about how good Mom looked. She didn’t look good—she looked dead.” Her voice cracked as she said this and she lowered it, not wanting Annie to hear how emotional she got talking about her mom. “I wanted everyone to go away. I didn’t want all those people around me. That night—” she paused, swallowing hard “—after everyone left and we’d gone to bed, I couldn’t sleep. Then it hit me. We’d just buried Mom. This wasn’t like some TV show. She was gone. I couldn’t stand it. I started to scream.”

Annie stared at her. “You must’ve felt bad,” she said quietly.

“I did. So bad.” Courtney nodded. “I couldn’t stop. I screamed and screamed. Everyone came rushing into my room, and all I could do was scream. I wanted my mother. I wanted her with me. I felt like I was the one who died, not her. I wished it was me.”

“What did your dad do?”

“Dad held me.” Tears streaked her face and once again she wiped them away.

“Then Jason and Julianna sat on my bed with Dad and me, and we all cried together. Up until then, I’d been the youngest, you know? Julianna and I weren’t that close—Jason and I weren’t, either—but we became real brother and sisters that night. Our whole family changed. We’re all so close now.” She was embarrassed to have said this much.

Annie looked as if she didn’t know what to say.

Courtney wanted her to realize that while she’d lost her father, he was still a part of her life, and she should be grateful for that.

“My room’s over here.” Annie gestured down the hallway.

Courtney gave the photos one last look and followed her slowly up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom.

Annie was sitting on her bed when Courtney came in. Discarded clothes littered the floor and the dresser was piled with CDs, books, makeup and magazines. A picture of a boy was stuck in a corner of the mirror.

Courtney walked over to study the snapshot. Another one she hadn’t initially noticed was taped to the bottom edge of the mirror. It was of Annie and the same boy at a school dance, standing beneath an archway of white and black balloons. Annie wore a pink party dress with a matching floral shawl and her date had on a suit.

“That’s Conner,” Annie whispered, her voice quavering. “We broke up a couple of months ago. He said I’d gotten to be a drag.”

“He’s cute.” Courtney assumed Annie still cared about him, otherwise she wouldn’t have kept the photos.

Annie shrugged. “He’s all right.”

“Do you ever see him anymore?”

“Once in a while. He’s going out with someone else now, but he’s on the football team with Andrew, so it’s unavoidable, you know? You like my brother, don’t you?”

Courtney whirled around at the unexpectedness of the comment and felt color flood her face. “I—I think he’s nice.” She was afraid to say more, for fear it would be misconstrued. Andrew was cute and popular and, according to Bethanne, one of the school’s star athletes. Probably every girl there was already in love with him. Courtney didn’t figure she had a chance, and she accepted that. She wouldn’t waste her time pining over a lost cause. If she was lucky, maybe they could be friends….

Annie heaved a sigh. “Speaking of my brother, he said I had to thank you for what you did that night. He’s right. I … I wasn’t really angry at you afterward.”

“I know. You were angry with yourself more than anything. You got in deeper than you meant to, and then it was too late.”

Annie stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she said. “But my dad—it’s not the same. My dad wanted to leave. Your mother didn’t. He walked away, and now it’s as if Andrew and I are nothing more than … than collateral damage. All he cares about is her.” Annie’s face was red as she spit out the words.

Courtney resisted the urge to squeeze her hand, knowing the other girl might reject her comfort. After a moment, she added, “Your father’s gone and your entire life’s been turned upside down. My life was too, Annie. It might not seem the same, but in some ways it was. I wouldn’t be living in Seattle if my mother hadn’t died, and my dad wouldn’t be in South America risking his life, either.”

“If my father could keep his pants zipped, my mother wouldn’t be out singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a bunch of brats and—” Annie began to sob, then jerkily moved her hand across her cheek. “I don’t want to talk about my dad, all right? I hate him and it doesn’t matter.”

“We can talk about anything,” Courtney told her.

Annie seemed to relax, as though she was relieved to change the subject. “The thing is, I actually think it’s cool what my mom’s doing. She always loved putting on parties, and she’s really enjoying this. And you know what? She’s making money. We’re getting a lot of phone calls, and Andrew and I help out whenever we can. I have a surprise for her. Want to see?”

“Sure,” Courtney said.

Annie leaped off the bed and sat down at her desk, turning on her computer. “Come and look,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

Courtney stood behind Annie as she brought up a graphic arts display. It featured balloons in one corner and a brightly decorated cake in the center, under a banner that read PARTIES BY BETHANNE, Birthdays a Specialty. Below that was their phone number.

“What do you think?” she asked. “It’s for a business card.”

“It’s great!”

“I wasn’t sure about the balloons, but it needs something there, don’t you think?”

Courtney examined it again and disagreed. “Take them out,” she suggested.

With a click of her mouse, Annie deleted the balloons. She cocked her head to one side and nodded. “You’re right. It looks cleaner without the balloons. Besides, Mom said someone phoned and asked about an adult birthday party and I think balloons are more associated with kids, don’t you?”

Courtney nodded. “This whole party idea has taken off, hasn’t it?”

Annie smiled. “It’s been really wild around here. Andrew and I thought Mom should have her own business cards. I guess she’ll need a Web site next.” She returned her attention to the screen. “Anything else I should change?”

Courtney studied the graphic for another couple of minutes. “You might want to use a different font,” she suggested, “one of the less fancy ones. This one’s pretty but it’s kind of difficult to read. Try Comic Sans or Verdana. Or maybe Georgia.”

Annie made the changes, deciding on Comic Sans, and sat back to examine the effect. “Hey, I like that.”

So did Courtney. “This is really nice—you doing this for your mom, I mean.”

“She asked me to work at one of her parties this weekend,” she said, still focusing on the monitor.

“Are you going to?” Courtney didn’t mention that she’d volunteered, too.

“Yeah, I guess. She said you might be there.”

“I was thinking about it.”

“I’ll do it if you will,” Annie said and looked up, grinning.

A warm feeling touched Courtney. “Does this mean we’re friends?” she asked. It was an awkward question, but she needed to know.

Annie seemed to seriously consider it. After a moment she said, “I’d like that. And I know I already said this, but Andrew’s right—I do owe you. He says you saved my ass.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “So … thanks.”

“It’s okay.” Courtney dismissed her gratitude. “I did some pretty stupid stuff myself after Mom died. One day I started a fire behind the grocery store. I can’t even explain why I did it.” She lowered her head. No one knew about that, not even her sister. “I was hurting so bad. It was stupid, and if anyone ever found out, I’d probably still be in some detention center.”

“You didn’t go to a rave, though, did you?”

“No, but I was younger than you. Trust me—I got into my share of trouble.”

Annie’s responding smile was weak, and she bit her lip. “According to the therapist I saw, what happened to us is pretty common. I’m not alone. Families split up, fathers walk away, and the kids just have to cope. I’m not very good at that. And … and I thought my father loved me.”

“I’m sure he does.” Courtney felt confident of that, although she could tell it was hard for Annie to believe.

“Maybe,” Annie agreed reluctantly. “But he loves her more. It’s all right, though—I’m dealing with it.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to blink them away.

“Can you print out that design?” Courtney asked, hoping to distract Annie. She pretended not to notice she was crying.

“Good idea.” Annie turned back to her computer, reached for the mouse and clicked on the printer icon. The printer started to hum, and they both stared at it as a sheet of paper slowly emerged.

Courtney picked it up and studied the design. “It looks fabulous.”

“You think so?” Annie asked. “I mean, I think it does, but it has to be perfect, you know? It has to look professional.”

“It does. Your mom’s going to flip when she sees it.”

Annie’s smile was bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Court.”

Court—that was what her friends in Chicago used to call her. For the first time since she’d left home, she didn’t have that empty feeling in her stomach.

“Hey, what are you two up to?” Andrew asked, leaning against his sister’s door.

He looked really good. He must’ve just returned from football camp because he carried his gym bag, which was unzipped. His cleats were on top.

“I designed Mom some business cards,” Annie told him.

Courtney handed him the printout.

“Hey, this is good!”

“Don’t act so surprised,” his sister snapped.

His eyes met Courtney’s, and he grinned. “You two want to go out for pizza?”

“You buying?” Annie asked.

“Sure. I got paid this week.” He gestured at Courtney. “Can you come?”

“I’d like to.” One slice of pizza and a small salad would be fine. She’d enjoy her friends’ company and eat a reasonably healthy meal.

She was no longer trying to fill the hollowness inside.

25
CHAPTER

“Knitters just naturally create communities of friends and newfound friends at work, after work, or on the Internet, sharing their passion for knitting.”

—Mary Colucci, Executive Director, Warm Up America! Foundation

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I’d been spending a lot of time outside the shop, talking to the loan managers at three local banks. I had to do something to help Margaret, but because of my medical history I was afraid I’d be refused a loan. My suspicions were right—until I talked to a wonderful manager at the third bank I tried. My business had been open for a little more than a year, I was showing a profit, and my latest checkup with Dr. Wilson had revealed that I was cancer-free. Seattle First, a small neighborhood bank, looked everything over and agreed to give me the loan. This was a red-letter day in my life as a businesswoman. I was able to apply for and receive a loan! Definitely cause for celebration.

Margaret knew nothing about what I was doing. She made an effort to put on a brave front, the same way I did when it came to Brad. Matt still didn’t have a job in his field. He’d worked as an electrical engineer for Boeing, but I wasn’t really sure what he did. He’d recently found a job painting houses; I knew he hated it, but it brought in a paycheck, and with the little bit I paid Margaret they were managing to stay afloat. Except for their missed mortgage payments …

I signed the loan papers the first Monday in August. The summer was flying by, and I hadn’t accomplished any of what I’d hoped. Earlier in the spring, Brad had promised to build me additional shelves for the yarn. We’d spent a few very satisfying Sunday afternoons working everything out on paper, measuring and designing the cubicles so they’d fit properly. I’d looked forward to helping him build them; so had Cody.

I needed new shelves, but that would have to wait, along with an idea I wanted to borrow from another store. In almost every yarn shop, space is a major consideration. There are so many new yarns and hand-dyed wools available that displaying them could be difficult. The particular store I’d visited in the north end of King County suspended hanks of brightly colored hand-dyed wool from the ceiling. It was clever and effective, and I’d hoped to do the same thing in a small section of A Good Yarn. Brad had said he’d place the screws in the ceiling for me.

I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own, but I hadn’t done it. For some reason, I didn’t seem able to move forward. Every improvement Brad and I had discussed, I’d put off. I just didn’t have the heart for it.

Once I’d deposited the check in my account and had a cashier’s check made out to Margaret, I drove to my sister’s house. We’d talked briefly on Sunday and I’d casually asked her if she had any plans for today. Nothing much, she’d told me.

Margaret was outside watering her flower beds when I parked on the street. Absorbed in thought, she apparently didn’t hear or see me.

“Hey, big sister!” I called out in order to get her attention.

She started at the sound of my voice, and her hand jerked, sending a spray of water onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?” she snapped.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“This couldn’t have waited until Tuesday?”

“Not really.”

Margaret is always gruff when she’s upset. Over the past year, I’d learned a great deal about her personality. She’ll never be a vivacious, friendly sort of person, and I don’t think she really knows how brusque she often sounds. She’d been a big help to me—still is—and while I pay her a salary, she could make a higher wage elsewhere. I wanted to do something for her and Matt, just … just because she’s my sister. Just so she’d know how much I love her.

“Do you need anything?” Margaret asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“A glass of iced tea would be nice.”

Margaret hesitated before agreeing with a sigh and a nod of her head. She walked over to the side of the house, turned off the water and marched up the porch steps.

I followed her into the house and immediately saw the cardboard boxes cluttering the living room.

“We can’t make the payment deadline, so there’s no use pretending we can,” Margaret said before I could ask. “We have until Friday before the bank files an eviction notice. It’s bad enough to lose the house, but I don’t want to drag my family through the humiliation of being evicted.”

In the kitchen, too, I saw a number of boxes stacked in the corner. I was grateful I’d managed to get the loan when I did.

“I probably shouldn’t worry about watering the yard,” Margaret commented, “but I had to get out of here for a while.” She took two tumblers from the cupboard. “It’s just too depressing.”

“I thought it was best to talk to you right away,” I said, leading carefully into the reason for my visit. “Instead of waiting until morning,” I added.

“Talk to me about what?” Setting the glasses on the table, Margaret sat down across from me.

“You know how much I appreciate the fact that you’re working with me,” I said.

“But?” she said cynically.

“But nothing.”

Her eyes widened. “You aren’t going to fire me?”

“Why would I fire you? I need you. No, I’m here to help.”

Again Margaret had a suspicious look. “Help me do what? Pack up our belongings?”

I decided it was pointless to discuss this when I was sitting with a cashier’s check in my purse. I opened my handbag and handed it to Margaret.

My sister took the check, read it, then frowned across the table at me. “Where did you get this money?” she demanded. “You went to Mom, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said. One thing my sister had in abundance was pride. She’d absolutely insisted Mom not know about this. I’d kept my promise and hadn’t breathed a word to our mother.

“I got a bank loan,” I said, unable to squelch my glee. “Think of it, Margaret. This is a huge step forward for me. A bank was willing to lend me money.” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “That says something, doesn’t it? They seem to think I’m a good risk.”

My sister held the check with both hands as if she were afraid to release it. “What did you tell the bank?”

“They didn’t ask too many questions.” A slight exaggeration. I’d been drilled by one officer and then another, and I’d filled out as many forms as if I were being admitted to the hospital.

“You used the shop as collateral?”

I nodded. “It’s all I have.” That was true. My entire future, all I have and all I ever hope to have, is tied up in my yarn store.

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears and she tried twice before she was able to speak. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Too late. It’s already done.” Knowing Margaret, I’d expected an argument. That was one reason I’d had the cashier’s check made out in her name. “You’re going to take that check, Margaret,” I said using my sternest voice, “and give it to the mortgage company first thing tomorrow.”

“I … I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can pay you back,” she muttered.

I should have explained this earlier. “It isn’t a loan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m giving you the money.”

Stunned at first, Margaret said nothing, then shook her head. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“I mean it. The money is a gift.” I’d thought very carefully about this. If I made the ten thousand dollars a loan, it would always come between us. My relationship with my sister was too important to risk problems over money. As far as I was concerned, this was the best way to handle it.

“I’m paying you back every cent,” my sister said, still on the verge of tears.

“Margaret,” I said, stretching my arm across the table to take her hand. “I repeat—the money is a gift.”

“One I fully intend on repaying with interest once Matt’s back on the job.”

I could see that arguing with her was pointless. “Do whatever you feel you have to, but this isn’t a debt or a loan or anything. It’s a … a gift of love, from me to you. One day, who knows, I might need your help. I have in the past.” Maybe not financial support, but emotional. “Don’t you remember last year when I had that cancer scare? You were with me every single day. I couldn’t have made it through that time without you. Now it’s my turn.”

Big tears finally spilled down her face and she struggled to speak. “Thank you,” she managed in a hoarse croak.

I finished my iced tea and went home with a good feeling, grateful for the opportunity to help my sister. Although my store is officially closed on Mondays, I’m almost always there. I use Mondays to clear off my desk, process paperwork, place orders and get caught up on business.

Whiskers greeted me as I came into the shop, weaving between my legs and making a general nuisance of himself. My cat objects to being alone for long periods. I’d been away for a good part of the morning, and Whiskers wasn’t happy with me. I crouched down and petted him, running my hand along his fur from ears to tail. He purred his appreciation as I murmured endearments.

That was when I saw the business-size envelope on the floor, some distance from the mail slot. Someone had apparently slipped a letter under my door. I couldn’t imagine who or why. I straightened and walked over to pick it up.

Almost immediately I recognized Cody’s printing. LYDIA was penciled across the front, with the Y and D almost double the size of the other letters.

Heart pounding, I tore open the note. It was a simple message. I MISS YOU. CAN I SEE YOU SOME TIME? Without meaning to, I crumpled the paper in my hands. Since my last meeting with Brad, when he’d announced that he was going back to Janice, I hadn’t said a word to him. Not a single word. He’d come into the shop any number of times on business, but Margaret had always been there to run interference.

I doubted Brad knew anything about this note. He’d abided by my wishes and not contacted me. I suspected even more strongly that the one time Brad’s name had come up on my Caller ID, it hadn’t been Brad at all, but his son. Cody hadn’t phoned since, probably on strict orders from his father.

As I looked out the window, I noticed the UPS truck parked across the street. He wasn’t inside. Before I could change my mind or reconsider the wisdom of what I was about to do, I unlocked the door and walked outside to see him. I wasn’t sure where he was making his delivery, but I knew that sooner or later he’d reappear.

I surveyed the neighborhood and was about to cross the street when he stepped out of the floral shop next door to me.

“Brad,” I said, stopping him. “Could we talk for just a moment?” I made an effort to sound unaffected.

He seemed surprised, but nodded. “Sure.”

There were many things I wanted to say. I longed to tell him that I understood why he’d decided to try again with Janice. And—more than that—how much I loved him and Cody, how desperately I missed them both. But I didn’t. “I got a note from Cody.”

“What? When?” He sounded shocked, distressed—and hopeful—all at once.

“I found it this morning.” I looked down for fear of what he’d read in my eyes. “He wanted to know if he could talk to me sometime.”

“He misses you,” Brad murmured.

“I miss him, too.” And I missed Cody’s father, but I didn’t mention that. “I know this is hard on him and I … I don’t want to confuse Cody or upset Janice, so if you think it’s best if I don’t call him, I’ll understand.”

Brad’s eyes held mine. “I appreciate that.”

My heart felt like it was about to break. “You don’t want me to talk to Cody?” My disappointment obviously showed, because Brad quickly shook his head.

“If Cody wants to talk to you and you’re willing, then I can’t see that it would do any harm.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, overwhelmed and grateful. “Please recognize that I want Cody to have his family intact. When you first came to me, I was angry and hurt, but I’m over that now—over you.” This seemed to be my day for exaggeration. I was far from over Brad, but I had to pretend otherwise.

He hesitated, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m dating again and … well, the two of us ignoring each other like this is silly.” The dating part was an outright lie. I was nowhere near ready for a new relationship.

“Anyone I know?” Brad asked.

I shook my head, unwilling to lie further. I’m not very good at it—and it’s not really a skill I hope to develop. I knew that if he questioned Margaret she’d cover for me, but I doubted he’d approach her; she’d been curt with him ever since our breakup. “If Cody wants to phone, please let him.”

This time, Brad didn’t meet my eyes. “He’s been asking to, but I wasn’t sure …”

“Like I said, I don’t want to make Janice uncomfortable.”

“I doubt she’ll mind.”

I gave him a slight, though genuine, smile. Being separated from Cody had been so hard, and the opportunity to at least speak to him lightened my heart. “I’ll look forward to hearing from him, then,” I said, as if we were no more than business acquaintances. That was all we ever would be, now that Janice was back in his life.

“Have a good day,” he said automatically—as if I were just like any other customer.

“Thanks,” I whispered, returning to the safety of my yarn store. Not until I turned the lock and retreated to my office did I realize how badly my hands shook.

This had been an eventful Monday for me. I’d received a bank loan, helped my sister and lied to the man I loved.

26
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise had never learned to drive. A driver’s license was good for ID purposes, but hardly necessary. Seattle had perfectly good public transportation. The bus generally got her wherever she needed to go, and on rare occasions, Aurora would drive her or she’d take a taxi.

That all changed with Maverick’s arrival. He was more than willing to drive her anywhere she wanted. Then he’d wait for her with limitless patience. For the past two weeks, he’d sat outside the yarn store while she attended her knitting class. She spoke so often about Bethanne, Courtney and Lydia that he knew almost as much about her friends as she did. She shared her concerns about Bethanne’s job and her hopes that Courtney’s senior year would be a good one. She’d also told him about Jacqueline, with whom she’d now attended two Birthday Club lunches.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he suggested Friday afternoon when they’d finished lunch.

Aurora, David and the boys were on a rare family outing to the Woodland Park Zoo. It was just the two of them, Maverick and Elise.

“A ride where?” she asked. No longer did she avoid his company and, in fact, she often sought him out. No longer did she instinctively distrust him—although she never forgot that he was a gambler. She didn’t like it, feared he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise, but decided to enjoy whatever time she had with him before he gave in to his compulsion again.

She did love to hear his stories, though. While she didn’t approve of gambling, she had to admit the tales of his exploits intrigued her. He’d been all over the world, to Europe, to Australia, to the Caribbean. He’d gambled in many of those places, but he’d also experienced real adventures—a boat trip down the Nile, driving through the Australian Outback, being briefly—and erroneously—arrested in Paris. He’d met famous people and told her anecdotes about them. Elise found she could listen to him for hours. She envied, just a little, his emotional extravagance. Unlike Maverick, Elise had always been cautious and frugal, with her money and her life.

The ideal way to live, she thought, was probably a combination of his approach and hers….

“I was thinking it might be nice to take a drive to the mountains,” Maverick said. “It’s been years since I went up to Mount Rainier.”

Elise frowned. “It’s a little late in the day for that, don’t you think?”

“Nah. Come on, Elise, aren’t you bored sitting around the house knitting?”

She bristled. “I happen to enjoy my knitting, thank you very much.”

“Bring it with you. You can knit in the car, can’t you?”

“I … I suppose.” Suddenly, she didn’t want to yield to his plans. She no longer seemed to have any resistance to him, and that frightened her. “I believe I’ll pass, but thank you for thinking of me,” she said stiffly.

Maverick grew quiet then, his disappointment unmistakable. He washed his lunch plate and tucked it inside the dishwasher. Then he disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a spy novel he’d been reading, and sat down in the family room off the kitchen.

As she wiped the counters, Elise glared at him. She refused to let him manipulate her.

“You can go without me, you know,” she told him.

Maverick lowered his book and glanced at her over his reading glasses. “I know.” He went back to his novel, apparently engrossed in the plot.

With Maverick reading, Elise walked down the hallway to her room and reached for her knitting. She was finished with the first sock and working on the second one. On Tuesday she’d purchased yarn for another pair of socks; these, she’d knit for her daughter.

She finished two complete rounds until, with a disgusted sigh, she set her knitting aside and marched into the family room. “Oh, all right. I’ll go.”

His face broke into a broad smile. “I hoped you’d come around.”

He’d blatantly used guilt to get his own way—and she’d let him. He was quite a master of manipulation; with barely a word, he’d coerced her into doing exactly what he wanted.

Within ten minutes, they were in the car and on their way out of the city, heading toward Mount Rainier National Park. Although Maverick had suggested it, Elise didn’t bring her knitting. She had enough to concentrate on.

Maverick was a fascinating conversationalist, able to talk about anything, able to switch topics instantly. This was a gift she didn’t have and one her ex-husband often used to ensnare his opponent on the other side of the gaming table. At least, according to his stories …

“I want you to tell me what happened,” he said as they continued down the two-lane highway that led to the park.

“If you’re referring to the debacle with the house, then let me inform you, the subject is closed.” She couldn’t bear the idea of exposing her foolishness to his scrutiny.

“Will you be okay financially?”

“Of course I will, once the lawsuit is settled.” She felt irritated that he was asking her these awkward questions now, while she was virtually his captive. The only thing she could do was change the subject. “I don’t remember the last time I was up in Paradise,” she murmured, staring out the window. Maverick was a skillful driver and the scenery was breathtaking.

“I do,” Maverick said, shooting her a look. “I’ll bet you remember, too. We were on our honeymoon.”

She swallowed tightly. Time to change the subject again. “You were gone this Wednesday. For several hours.”

“I had personal business and before you ask, I wasn’t gambling. You have my word on that.”

She shouldn’t have brought it up, and regretted that she had.

“Paradise was a misnomer,” she said after a stilted pause. “Our honeymoon was ruined by those dreadful mice.”

Maverick burst out laughing.

“It was no laughing matter,” she said with a shudder. Maverick had managed to get them reservations in the National Park’s beautiful and romantic lodge. In the middle of the night, Elise had awoken to a faint scratching sound. Her mistake was turning on the light. To her absolute horror, she saw five or six deer mice crawling in Maverick’s overnight bag. She’d let out a scream that had startled her husband—and probably half the lodge—into sudden wakefulness. Maverick had peanuts in his suitcase and the mice had gone after those, carrying them out one by one in what was practically an assembly line.

The following morning Elise had complained to the man at the registration desk about the unsanitary conditions and the fact that there appeared to be an infestation of mice. He’d informed her that the lodge was prohibited by federal law from killing any of the wildlife in the area—including mice. The only place they were allowed to set traps was in the kitchen.

“Remember how I distracted you?” Maverick asked in a sultry voice.

Leave it to a man to mention sex. Or to hint at it, anyway. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

“You remember,” he said, his amusement obvious.

“I most certainly do not.” She hugged herself even tighter.

He laughed at her stubborn refusal to admit the passion they’d shared. “How long has it been, Elise?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Longer for me than for you, no doubt.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

She turned around to glance at him. “You can’t fool me, Maverick. I was married to you, remember? I know you. You had an extremely healthy sexual appetite.”

“After we split up, you used to let me come to your bed.”

Her face went instantly crimson. “That was a mistake.” The year following their separation and divorce, he’d showed up at the apartment every few nights and talked his way into her bedroom. Then he’d abruptly stopped and Elise knew why. He’d found some other woman who welcomed him. One who was happy to overlook his flaws and take what he offered without questions or recriminations.

“It wasn’t a mistake on my part,” he said.

“Do you mind if we talk about something else?” she asked in a bored voice.

“You used to be such a prude—until I got you between the sheets.” He shook his head. “I guess you still are a prude.”

“Stop it right this minute! Or I swear I’ll … I’ll open this door and jump out of the car.”

“Well, that got a reaction, didn’t it?” He chuckled softly.

“I’m sixty-five years old and I find this discussion embarrassing.”

“I’m not dead yet, and I doubt you are, either,” Maverick said smoothly.

Elise was determined not to answer.

They drove in silence after that and then, for no apparent reason, Maverick started laughing. Despite everything, Elise grinned. Then Maverick reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

The rest of the afternoon was delightful. They drove through Rainier National Park and dined on steak and baked potatoes in the lodge.

The house was dark and quiet when they finally returned. Worn out from an entire day at the zoo, Luke and John were sound asleep. Aurora and David must have been tired, too, because not a sound came from their part of the house.

Maverick escorted Elise to her bedroom door. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon and evening,” he whispered.

Elise kept her gaze averted. “Dinner was lovely.” Everything about the day had been lovely. “Just … thank you.” About to turn away, she didn’t expect him to kiss her. But he did. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and moist and his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close. When he ended the kiss and released her, Elise’s knees nearly buckled.

“Good night, Elise,” he whispered, touching her face as if memorizing the feel of her skin.

She mumbled a reply that was completely unintelligible and nearly fell into her room. Her hands shook as she undressed and carefully hung up her clothes.

The tap on her bedroom door came just as she’d finished brushing her teeth.

She closed her eyes, swaying, not sure what to do. She could ignore him and go to bed—or she could open her door. Deciding quickly, she walked to the door.

As she’d expected, Maverick stood in the hallway. His eyes met hers in the light from her room. “Are you going to let me in,” he asked, “or turn me away?”

27
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

“I don’t mind helping you, Mom, but I’ve got a life too,” Annie muttered as Bethanne carried party supplies out to the car. The trunk was nearly full.

Annie followed her with a china tea set for an Alice in Wonderland party. The birthday girl was turning nine and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was one of her favorite books. Bethanne had designed an entire birthday party around that theme, including games, prizes and finger foods. Since her first dinosaur party for Elise’s grandson, she’d come up with dozens of new party ideas.

“What are you going to do once school starts?” Annie asked, unwilling to drop the subject.

That was a good question. Bethanne had come to rely on her children and on Courtney for help with these events. Following football camp, practices had begun a few weeks earlier, and Andrew was busy most days. Annie was busy a lot of the time, too. To date, Courtney had been her most reliable helper. Thankfully her children didn’t expect or want to be paid, and Courtney, too, refused any monetary compensation. Bethanne was grateful for their generosity, and since she was just getting this operation underway, every cent she could, she invested in the business.

“School starts in two weeks,” Annie reminded her.

Bethanne closed the trunk. “I know.” She could’ve done without that reminder. School was looming, and she’d truly be on her own with the business then. She could probably get help with the actual parties, but she’d have to complete the preparations herself. Still, all the work was worth it; giving Andrew a check so he could attend football camp had been the highlight of her summer. Nothing could diminish the sense of pride and accomplishment she’d felt.

“Andrew will be totally engrossed in football, so you won’t be able to rely on him,” Annie went on, oblivious to everything else.

As much as possible Bethanne would book parties around her son’s games. She wanted to attend every one she could.

“And I’m on the swim team again.”

“When did that happen?” Bethanne kept her voice carefully neutral. She’d been disappointed when her daughter dropped out of the swim team, and she was delighted that Annie had rejoined it. Yes, it did seem that the old Annie was back. According to Grant, the harassment against Tiffany had ceased. Painful as this period had been, Annie appeared to be past it.

“I called the coach and he said he’d welcome me back, but I have a lot of time to put in if I’m going to catch up with the other girls.”

This was why Annie had been gone so much recently, Bethanne realized. Her daughter hadn’t informed her about the swim team, and Bethanne didn’t really understand why. Maybe Annie had wanted to wait, make sure it all worked out.

“I think swimming is a good idea,” Bethanne said.

“What are you going to do?” her daughter asked. “When we’re back in school and doing all our extracurricular stuff?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“How many parties have you got booked for September?”

“Annie, please,” Bethanne cried. “I have to leave now if we’re going to pick up Courtney, otherwise we’ll be late.”

“Mom, you need a plan.”

“We can talk about it on the way,” she said, hurrying inside for her purse and car keys. She didn’t miss Annie’s exasperated expression.

Annie was already in the front seat and buckled up by the time Bethanne returned.

“Well?” Annie demanded as Bethanne backed out of the driveway.

“I’ll hire someone.”

“Who?”

“Courtney.” The girl was trustworthy and a natural with kids, and she seemed to have more free time than her own children did. Bethanne would insist on paying her.

Annie and Courtney had become good friends, just as she’d hoped. She had no idea what they talked about, but it wasn’t unusual for them to spend two and three hours at a stretch in Annie’s bedroom. Bethanne would’ve guessed they didn’t have much in common, but apparently she was wrong.

“Courtney!” Annie exploded right on cue. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Is something wrong with Courtney?” she asked mildly, reviewing her party list. Food, dishes, decorations, costumes … Eventually, she’d like to upgrade to a party van, too. She’d need the extra space, plus she could have her logo and phone number painted on the side.

“Mom,” Annie continued, “you can’t hire Courtney.”

“Why not?” Bethanne asked, stopping for a red light.

“It isn’t fair to her! This is her senior year and she’s in a new school. She wants to join the yearbook staff. Did you know she was chosen to be yearbook editor at her high school in Chicago?”

Annie said this in awe. Bethanne suspected that her daughter was less impressed by the fact that Courtney was yearbook editor than by her willingness to walk away from the honor for her family’s sake.

“Courtney came to Seattle and she doesn’t know anyone,” Annie went on.

“She knows you and Andrew,” Bethanne countered.

“Andrew is so self-absorbed he isn’t going to be much help to her,” Annie said with a dismissive gesture. “Mom, if you ask Courtney, I know she’ll say yes, so you can’t ask her. It would be completely unfair. Courtney needs a chance to make friends, and to do that she needs time. Besides—” she gave an exasperated sigh “—she’s already off on the wrong foot.”

“What do you mean?” The light changed, and Bethanne drove through the intersection.

“Didn’t you hear?” Annie cried as if this were a disaster of catastrophic proportions. “Courtney registered for classes without talking to me and it’s awful. She signed up for all the wrong ones. She’s in first-period PE!”

As Bethanne recalled, there’d been some discussion about this during their most recent knitting class. Courtney didn’t have a lot of options in registering for her classes. After the basic requirements were met, the only electives left were the least popular ones.

“Okay, I’ll find someone else to hire,” Bethanne said. “Not Courtney.” Privately, she thought Courtney should make the decision about whether or not to accept the job herself. On the other hand, she didn’t want the girl agreeing to it out of a sense of obligation or friendship, and Annie was probably right in thinking that would happen.

“Thanks, Mom.”

After a few minutes’ silence, her daughter said, “I phoned Dad last night.”

“Oh.” That was unexpected, but Bethanne knew better than to reveal any emotion. Annie wouldn’t have mentioned the call if there wasn’t something she wanted her mother to know.

“We talked.”

“I’m proud of you,” Bethanne said, and she meant it. The fact that Annie had reached out to him revealed a new maturity in her daughter. “I want you to have a relationship with your father.”

Annie laughed softly. “Dad’s still pretty mad about some of the stuff I pulled. I told him to get over it.”

That was a fitting comment, since Grant had said virtually the same thing about Annie during that conversation at the French Café.

“I bragged about how successful your party business is.”

“Thanks,” Bethanne said, grinning at her daughter. She was curious to know whether Grant had commented on her business accomplishments, but she wouldn’t ask.

“She’s still upset about what I did to her car, even though the insurance company covered it.”

“I’d rather not discuss that,” Bethanne said. “That’s in the past, you’ve apologized and it’ll never happen again.”

“Yeah,” Annie said on the end of a sigh. “But about Tiffany—well, there’s no easy way to say this.”

“Then just say it,” Bethanne advised.

“She and Dad are flying to Vegas this afternoon to get married. They’ve got everything arranged with one of those wedding chapel places. He seemed to think I should know. I guess because he wanted me to tell you.”

She’d known it would happen sooner or later, but still …

“Are you okay?” her daughter asked, watching her closely. Her sweet face was tense with concern.

“I’m fine.” And she was, although there was regret and melancholy mingled with her acceptance. “What’s going to be different?” she asked with a nonchalant shrug. “He’s been living with Tiffany ever since he moved out.”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to freak out.”

“How do you feel about it?” Bethanne asked.

Annie took a moment to consider the question. “It’s sad, you know. It’s like Dad isn’t even part of my life anymore. I don’t even see him because she refuses to let me in the house. As if I’d want to visit,” she scoffed. “You know, Mom, I don’t really care.”

“I don’t either,” Bethanne murmured. “But it’s important that you maintain a connection with your dad. Your relationship with Grant has nothing to do with Tiffany—or me.”

After the party, she had an overwhelming urge to talk to Paul, but she waited until Andrew and Annie were out for the night. They were attending a rock concert at Key Arena—some rapper whose lyrics Bethanne couldn’t make out. From what she knew of rappers, that was probably for the best.

Paul answered on the second ring. “I was going to give you a call,” he said. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her.

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” She wanted to see him although she didn’t intend to cook. “I’m going to order pizza.”

“Perfect. I’ll rent a movie,” he said, then hesitated. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“How do you know something’s wrong?”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

“Really?”

“Bethanne, you’re avoiding the subject.”

“You might want to wait until you get here.”

“No,” he insisted, “tell me now.”

She sighed. Grant hadn’t had the courage to tell her; instead he’d done it through their daughter. Even then, Annie had been the one to phone him, otherwise none of them would’ve known until after the fact.

“Tonight, while we’re eating pizza and watching a DVD, Grant and Tiffany will be in Vegas. Three guesses why.”

“They’re getting married.”

“Bingo.”

Paul didn’t comment for a long moment. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“Make it a big bottle,” she said.

28
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

Courtney arrived for her orientation class at Washington High School early on Monday, August 15. She’d already received her class assignments, and according to Annie, she’d failed miserably in choosing her electives. She was doomed to become a social outcast if what Annie said was true.

She spent the morning at the high school. The purpose of the orientation was to ensure, among other things, that she’d be familiar enough with the building to make her way from class to class on the first day of school. The summer was almost over, and Courtney prayed the year would pass just as quickly.

At noon, once she was finished with orientation, she headed home. Grams had volunteered to drive her, but Courtney had refused, taking her bike instead. It was parked behind the building, close to the football field. When she went to retrieve it, she noticed the football team practicing. She stopped and decided to watch for a few minutes. Annie had boasted that Andrew played quarterback, although it was hard to recognize him beneath all that equipment.

The three of them had gone out for pizza that one night, but Andrew didn’t stay with Annie and Courtney long. Very soon after they’d arrived at the restaurant, Andrew had run into a group of his friends and abandoned the girls. Not that it really mattered … She’d seen him a few times since, mostly at Annie’s place, but she doubted she’d said a dozen words to him.

Sitting in the stands, Courtney saw Andrew throw a pass deep into the end zone. The receiver leaped into the air and miraculously came down with the football. Excited to have scored the touchdown, Andrew raced to the end of the field and threw his arms around the receiver.

A whistle blew and the team formed a huddle around their coach. After a couple of minutes, all the players sent up a cheer and trotted toward the locker room.

Andrew had removed his helmet and was talking to a friend when he glanced up into the stands. He must have seen her because he stared as if trying to determine whether this was someone he knew.

Courtney felt uncomfortably conspicuous. She waved and stood up to leave.

Andrew started toward the chain-link fence, obviously intending to speak to her. Embarrassed now, Courtney walked down the steep concrete steps and met him at the fence.

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure that was you, either.” Courtney smiled, happy just to see him. She hoped he’d notice the fact that she’d lost weight—almost fifteen pounds. She was beginning to discern a difference in how her clothes fit.

“They had orientation for new students this morning,” she explained, nervously pointing at the building behind her. She had to make clear to Andrew that she hadn’t come down here because of him. She liked him—okay, really liked him—but she didn’t want him knowing it.

“Yeah, the school always does that.”

“My bicycle’s back here.”

He nodded, apparently disinterested. “Have you got your class assignments yet?”

Courtney told him what she remembered.

“I’m in second period Honors English,” he said.

“You are?” This was good news as far as Courtney was concerned. She’d know at least one person in that class. To hear Annie talk, she’d gotten the very dregs of the elective courses.

Another player shouted at Andrew, and he looked over his shoulder. “Be there in a minute,” he shouted back.

“You’d better go,” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I’m grateful you called me that night about Annie. She’s feeling a lot better since she started hangin’ with you.”

“Thanks. I needed a friend, too.”

They exchanged goodbyes and see-you-laters. As Andrew walked away, a blond girl raced onto the field. She gave a loud shriek, and when Andrew turned, she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Although Andrew was sweaty and hot from practice and still in his uniform, she planted an openmouthed kiss on his lips. Naturally, the girl was thin and beautiful.

Courtney turned away to find a second girl almost directly behind her.

“Oh. Hi,” she said, giving Courtney a look that would have frozen motor oil.

“Hi.” Despite the chilly greeting, Courtney felt this was her opportunity to make friends. “I’m Courtney Pulanski.”

“Shelly Johnson. I’m with Melanie.”

It seemed Melanie was the one with a lip lock on Andrew.

“I’m a friend of Andrew and Annie’s,” she said, hoping this would smooth the way for her. They were basically the only teenagers she knew. She’d met a lot of people since she’d arrived in Seattle, but most of them collected social security. Bethanne and Lydia were two exceptions, but Bethanne was probably close to her father’s age, and Lydia had to be at least thirty.

“Yeah,” Shelly said with the same lack of welcome. “I’ve heard about you.”

This was interesting. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Courtney thought giving the other girl some background might warm her reception. “I recently moved here from Chicago.”

“Will you be going to this school?”

Courtney nodded. “It’s my senior year.”

“Same as Andrew,” she said, and her gaze narrowed suspiciously, as if she was trying to read Courtney’s intentions toward Annie’s brother.

Courtney wanted it understood that she didn’t consider herself competition for Melanie. “I’m actually more Annie’s friend than Andrew’s,” she murmured.

“Uh-huh. Just so you know, Mel and Andrew have been dating for a year. Mel’s the head cheerleader and she’ll probably be Homecoming Queen. It’s perfect because Andrew’s for sure gonna be King.”

“Perfect,” Courtney echoed. It was all so perfectly perfect. She didn’t understand how she could be deemed a threat to this perfect romance.

As soon as she could, Courtney left and biked back to her grandmother’s. She felt a surprising sense of energy as she rode, although she was definitely out of sorts.

“I have your lunch ready,” Grams told her when she walked into the kitchen. A bowl of soup waited on the table, along with a tray of sliced carrots and celery.

“I’m not hungry,” Courtney snapped, stomping toward her bedroom.

“Courtney Pulanski, there’s no need to get snippy with me,” her grandmother said sternly.

Courtney was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Grams.”

“What’s wrong?”

Courtney shook her head, not knowing what to say. She could hardly even put words to what she felt. It was that familiar ache of loneliness, that sense of not fitting in. She missed her friends and her family and her old high school. More than anything in the world, she just wanted to go home.

“Maybe you’re tired?” her grandmother suggested.

A nap was her grandmother’s solution to just about every problem. That or a bowel movement. Rather than respond, Courtney continued up the stairs to her room.

Once inside, she closed the door and logged onto the Internet. Her spirits lifted immediately when she saw an e-mail from her father. He sounded well, which was a huge relief. She felt a constant, nagging worry about him. She’d heard far too many stories about kidnappings in South America to be comfortable with her dad working there. She answered his e-mail right away and described the orientation class, exaggerating her enthusiasm for the start of school. Courtney didn’t want her father to be concerned about her, didn’t want to add to the burdens he already carried.

After reading her other mail—from Julianna and two of her Chicago friends—she lay down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, assessing her chances for success this year. At the moment everything seemed bleak.

It was the way Melanie had looked at her, Courtney decided. Andrew’s girlfriend had given her the eye as she claimed possession of Andrew. She viewed Courtney as an unknown and unwelcome threat. Funny how much you could derive from a single look.

Shelly, the friend, didn’t even pretend to be friendly. Their entire conversation had been an attempt to gain information so she could assure the perfect “Mel” that Courtney was a nobody.

Courtney did wonder why Annie had never mentioned Melanie. Maybe she didn’t like her brother’s girlfriend. Or maybe it simply hadn’t occurred to her.

“Do you want me to bring you your lunch?” her grandmother shouted from the foot of the stairs.

Courtney reluctantly slid off the bed and stepped out into the hallway. “Grams, I told you, I’m not hungry.” And the last thing she wanted was for her grandmother to climb the stairs. Vera had made her feelings about that quite clear.

“You should eat something.”

“I will later.”

Her grandmother’s face darkened. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m all right.”

“Did someone upset you?”

Courtney slowly came down the stairs, her hand on the railing. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her grandmother looked as if she didn’t believe her.

“Maybe I’ll have some soup, after all,” Courtney said, and Grams brightened.

“I want to hear about your classes.” She bustled into the kitchen, with Courtney following.

They sat at the table and chatted while Courtney ate her tomato soup and carrot sticks.

“Leta thinks once you’re settled in school, you should join the swim team,” Courtney’s grandmother said in an encouraging voice. “We all agree you’re like greased lightning in the water.”

Courtney hid a smile. She’d become a more skilled swimmer through the summer, but it wasn’t any wonder Grams thought she was fast, considering her competition was a group of eighty-year-olds.

“Think about it,” Grams urged.

“I will,” Courtney promised.

29
CHAPTER

“You can do it. It’s only one stitch at a time.”

—Myra Hansen, owner, Fancy Image Yarn, Shelton, WA. www.FancyImageYarn.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I was looking forward to my next sock class—although it was technically my last. Elise, Bethanne and Courtney had each completed one pair of socks using two circular needles and had already started on a second. Once again I was enthralled with the way three women, from dissimilar backgrounds, could be brought together by the simple enjoyment of knitting. I’d been a silent witness to it all, and marveled anew at how their lives had become entwined.

Elise was the one who’d suggested Bethanne start her own party business, and Courtney had become a special friend to Bethanne’s daughter, Annie. Best of all, they’d become friends to each other. And to me …

Margaret had been in good spirits ever since the worry of losing their home had been removed. I didn’t know what she’d told Matt about the money, but it didn’t matter. Not once had she brought up the subject of the ten thousand dollars, and frankly, I was relieved. I’d gladly make those loan payments and never say a word. My family had sacrificed so much for me through the years that it felt good to be giving something back. To Mom, who needed my time and attention more than ever, and to my sister.

Elise arrived for class first, and I noticed the white Lincoln Continental parked in front of the shop with the distinguished older man sitting behind the wheel. I found her ex-husband’s devotion rather touching, and there was a certain reassurance in knowing that love can be renewed—not that I expected any such thing in my own life.

I love Brad and Cody; time wouldn’t change that. Cody and I talked once or twice a week. He told me his dad said he could phone me anytime he wanted. He rarely mentioned his mother, as if he knew talking about Janice and his dad was painful to me. The only concrete information I’d learned was that his mom still had her own place. I figured that probably wouldn’t be for long.

“Good morning, everyone,” Elise said. She positively glowed—there was no other word for it.

I had to stop what I was doing and look again. “You’re in a good mood,” I commented.

“My daughter said the same thing.”

“I see Maverick’s here,” Margaret announced, looking out the display window.

Elise blushed with pleasure. “I told him it’s utter nonsense to sit outside and wait, but he says he doesn’t have anything better to do. He reads the newspaper.” She sat down at the table and brought out her knitting. “I ended up giving him the socks I knit, so once I finish these for Aurora, I’ll make a pair for David.”

“Was Maverick surprised?” It wasn’t any of my business, but I was curious. The first socks I’d knit with the circular-needle method were for Brad. He’d nearly worn them out, so I’d knit several more pairs. I wonder if he still wore them. If Janice knew who’d made those socks, she might ask him to throw them in the garbage. Or do it herself, I thought darkly.

Elise was explaining that Maverick loved the socks and yes, he’d been completely surprised, when the door opened and Bethanne breezed into the shop.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked. “I get so involved with what I’m doing that I lose track of where I need to be.” She hurried to the back of the shop, where Elise sat by herself.

Bethanne had changed so much since that first class in June. She was confident, optimistic, happy. There was a mystery man in her life, too. She’d mentioned his name in passing, Pete or Paul, but I’d forgotten.

Courtney was almost directly behind Bethanne. I was concerned about her; for the past two weeks she’d been quieter than usual. I knew she was feeling stressed about starting a new school and I hoped the transition would be smooth. I wouldn’t broach the subject, but if she wanted to bring it up, I’d be ready and willing to listen.

“This is officially our last class,” I said and to my delight the announcement was greeted with boos and jeers. “Would you like to continue?” All three instantly agreed, which was exactly what had happened with my original class. “Then I propose that we turn this into a knitting support group.” I’d been thinking about beginning a new one, and this was the perfect opportunity. “I’ll let the other classes know, so we might have a few other knitters joining us now and then.” I explained that they’d continue meeting each week—same time, same place. They were welcome to bring in whatever they wanted to knit and I’d be available to help anyone who had a question or a problem. I no longer charged for this, because I’d seen the benefits of having people come to the shop on a regular basis.

“That sounds ideal,” Elise said, speaking for the group. “I’ve enjoyed this class more than I can say.”

I suspected she was so in love with her ex-husband that the whole world seemed shiny and bright. I didn’t know whether there was any kind of arrangement between them. Maybe they were just living in the present, not worrying about the future.

“I’ll come every week I can,” Bethanne assured the others. “The only reason I couldn’t is if I have a function, but I can’t imagine there’ll be too many birthday parties on weekday afternoons.”

“Me neither,” I agreed. “You’ve finished your socks, right?”

Bethanne nodded.

“You gave them to your son?”

Color crept up her neck and invaded her cheeks. “Actually, no. I gave them to a … friend.”

Margaret walked over to the table, carrying a stack of pattern books. “Paul?”

Bethanne nodded. “Don’t look at me like that. We’re just friends. He’s the ex-husband of the woman my husband left me for.” There were a few gasps. “His ex-wife and my ex-husband are married now,” she said matter-of-factly, “and we get together once in a while to talk things over. How we feel about it and all that.”

“When did they get married?” Courtney asked and seemed surprised.

“Just recently. It wasn’t unexpected, but it helps to have someone to discuss this with. Paul’s great.” She took a deep breath. “He’s a few years younger and well, he’d like us to have a more … romantic relationship. I promised to consider it, but in the end I decided we’d be more valuable to each other as friends. I told him the only way I’d go out with him was if his mother came along to chaperone.”

Elise and Courtney laughed.

“I’m encouraging him to see someone closer to his own age.”

“What about you?” Margaret asked. “Are you ready to date?”

Bethanne shook her head. “Not yet. Dating means I’d have to shave my legs and wear panty hose. That’s more bother than it’s worth at this point.”

“You don’t shave your legs?” Courtney asked with an appalled look. “I do practically every day.”

“Annie, too.” Then Bethanne shrugged. “I got out of the habit in my thirties.”

“What about you, Court?” I asked, feeling comfortable enough with the teenager to shorten her name. “Will you be able to join the support group?”

“I’ll come until school starts,” she said, “and I might even be able to come after that, but I’d need to discuss it with my advisor. I think my Tuesday schedule should be okay.”

“Hey,” Elise said, “who says we have to meet at the same time? We could make it after school, instead, and then Courtney could join us for sure. Does that work for everyone?”

An immediate chorus of agreement followed. “Three o’clock it is,” I announced.

The bell chimed and one of my all-time favorite knitters came into the shop. “Jacqueline!” I cried, cheered to see her. It’d been a couple of weeks since we’d talked. She was a regular at the Friday charity sessions, but she’d been on a trip with her husband.

“I’m back from New York City and here for a yarn fix,” she informed me. Everyone at the table knew Jacqueline, so introductions weren’t necessary.

She had that look in her eye, a look I recognized. Those of us who are addicted to yarn seem to share it. Jacqueline was among my best customers; she could afford to buy as much yarn as she wanted and she did, without restraint. She’d told me recently that Reece had set aside a room in their house for her yarn stash. I envied her all that space. Jacqueline had every intention of knitting each skein—once she found the project best suited to it. I, too, had a million projects waiting. We both had more yarn tucked away than we could possibly knit in an entire lifetime, or even two.

Jacqueline sat down next to Elise and admired her work. She tended to dominate the conversation, but no one really minded. Her enthusiasm for yarn and knitting was contagious.

The phone rang and my ever-efficient sister answered it. I wasn’t paying much attention but when she replaced the receiver and walked over to the table, where I sat with the class, I noticed the color had drained from her face.

Margaret placed her hand on my shoulder. “It’s Mom,” she managed to say. “We need to get to Swedish Hospital right away.”

“What happened?” My heart was instantly in my throat.

“She collapsed—the neighbor found her on the patio. No one knows how long she was there.”

I leaped up from the chair, ready to rush out, when I realized I had a store full of customers. Several women were browsing among the yarn displays and one was flipping through patterns. Not to mention my class …

“Go,” Jacqueline insisted. “I’ll mind the business until you get back. Just go.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Elise asked.

“Me?” That was Bethanne.

“I can stay, too,” Courtney said.

I was overwhelmed by gratitude for their kindness and compassion. “Thank you. Thank you all so much.” These women were more than my customers and my students. They were my friends.

Margaret had her purse by the time I went to collect mine. When I came out of the office, Brad had just arrived with a delivery. He stood near the door.

“We have to leave,” Margaret was telling him as she signed for the yarn. “It’s Mom. She’s been rushed to the hospital.”

He looked at me, frowning with concern. “Is she going to be all right?”

“I don’t know,” I told him. “I don’t know anything yet.” I couldn’t control my reaction, my need for comfort, for him. I reached out to Brad. I needed his arms around me one last time, for courage and strength. He seemed to understand that intuitively, and when I moved toward him, he drew me into his embrace.

“We have to go,” Margaret said in a low voice.

He released me, and I thanked him wordlessly, then rushed out of the store.

The staff at Swedish was wonderful, although it took what seemed like hours before we were able to talk to anyone. I berated myself over and over for not being more available to my mother. She was never demanding of my time and grateful for whatever I gave her. I did visit two or three times a week, but clearly that wasn’t enough.

Margaret saw her as often as she could, too. But Mom needed more than scattered visits from her two daughters. I was nearly choking on guilt and so, I suspected, was my sister.

Margaret hated being inside a hospital. It was because of the smell, she said, which immediately made her feel anxious. I’d spent practically my entire youth in one and had grown so accustomed to it that I no longer noticed. Margaret had a firm grip on my arm, and for once she was relying on me.

We were asked to wait in a sitting room until the doctor could update us on Mom’s condition. The chairs were comfortable, and a television was on, playing a soap opera—ironically it was General Hospital. I didn’t pay attention, didn’t hear a single word. My mind whirled with guilt and fear and recriminations. I was certain I’d failed my mother and that everything was somehow my fault.

A physician appeared and, as if our movements were synchronized, Margaret and I stood simultaneously.

The doctor came straight to the point. “Your mother is in serious condition. She’s in a diabetic coma.”

This was a shock to both of us.

“We’ve got her stabilized and I expect her insulin levels to even out, but this is a disease that is not to be taken lightly.”

“No one in the family is diabetic,” Margaret said. “We had no idea Mom could come down with this.”

“She lives alone?”

We both nodded.

Again the physician was straightforward. “Well, I’d suggest you investigate placing her in assisted living.”

He wanted us to take our mother out of the only home she’d known for the last fifty years. I didn’t know if I could do that—but I realized we had no choice.

30
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

The house was quiet when the light tap sounded at Elise’s bedroom door. She was waiting for Maverick. She was so in love with this man that she’d lost all sense of propriety. She knew what he was, knew it to the very depths of her heart, but now—just like all those years ago—it didn’t seem to matter.

The knock came, and she opened her door to let him in. He pulled her into his arms and they kissed. They’d made love just once—the night after their excursion into the mountains—and when it was over, they’d both cried, holding each other in the aftermath of passion. Their first sexual reunion had been a combination of excitement, embarrassment, fear and anticipation. They’d felt awkward with each other, but they’d also experienced tenderness and joy. They’d spent most nights together since then, simply holding each other close. After sleeping alone all these years, Elise hadn’t thought it possible to bring a man to her bed, a single bed at that. Anyone seeing them cramped against the wall would’ve found the sight comical, she was sure. She fell asleep in his embrace and then in the early hours of the morning, Maverick slipped back into the boys’ room.

No one was the wiser. At least, not as far as she knew. She suspected David and Aurora had guessed, but neither mentioned it. Elise pretended her daughter was oblivious to the late-night shuffle between Maverick’s room and hers.

“This is silly, you know,” Maverick murmured, pulling back the sheet so they could get into bed together. He let her go first and then followed.

“What’s silly, our being together?” He was right, but she found it alarming that he’d admit it.

“Our being together is the only thing right about this situation,” Maverick insisted in a husky whisper. “What’s wrong is sneaking around in the middle of the night. Good grief, Elise, I’m sixty-six years old. The last time I did this, I was a teenager.”

“Stop!” she said, giggling.

“Don’t tell me you’re accustomed to this.”

“Of course I’m not!”

“Then let me make an honest woman of you.”

Elise slid under the sheets until she was down far enough to rest her head against Maverick’s shoulder. “Are you suggesting we … get married? Again?” While it might sound appealing, she wasn’t convinced that was really the solution.

“Do you want to live in sin?”

“I … I don’t know.” She’d had her freedom for the past thirty years. “Can I think about it?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his leg against hers. “I love you, Elise. I’ve always loved you.”

She believed Maverick did love her, but that didn’t mean she could trust him. If she was a gambling woman, she would’ve bet that, given the opportunity, he’d be back at the gaming tables.

Maverick kissed the top of her head. “I talked to the real estate agent about the apartment complex this afternoon,” he whispered.

He’d left the house after lunch and been gone almost four hours. He never told her where he went, but this wasn’t the first time he’d mysteriously disappeared. Elise had her suspicions, but didn’t press him for details. Some things it was better not to know.

But it was too hard not to say something, not to ask for even a hint. “You were away for a long time,” she murmured.

“I know. You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“Should I be?”

“I wasn’t gambling.”

Elise closed her eyes. She struggled, once again, to take him at his word. Too often, she’d looked the other way rather than confront the truth. It distressed her to realize that nothing had really changed about him—or her—in all these years.

“I swear to you I wasn’t,” he reiterated.

“Okay.” She placed her arm around his middle. He’d been her one folly in life. She knew what he was when she’d married him the first time. Her love hadn’t changed him then and it probably wouldn’t now.

“The deal went through on the condo.”

“Oh.”

“I’m moving in next week.”

She didn’t know how to respond, unwilling to reveal her disappointment or her sudden feeling of loss.

“I’ve stayed longer than I should have,” he whispered. “I never intended to intrude on Aurora and David for more than a couple of weeks.”

He didn’t want to overstay his welcome any more than Elise wanted to burden her daughter and family. But there was nowhere else for her to go. She was beginning to think she might never get her money back. The courts moved so slowly that by the time the case was settled, she’d be dead and buried, she thought cynically.

“I’d like you to move in with me,” he said, his voice a throaty whisper.

“I’m … not sure.” The temptation to give in was stronger than anything she’d felt in years.

“We don’t need to remarry if you don’t want.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“More than you’ll ever know.” He tightened his hold on her. She lay there quietly, comforted by his arms around her, and eventually realized he was asleep.

It was a long time before Elise managed to doze off. In the morning when she woke, he was gone. Aurora was already up and in the kitchen, dressed in her housecoat. Elise poured herself a cup of coffee. She knew David had left for work; he was usually on the road by seven. The house remained quiet. Before long, the boys would be up and so would Maverick. Elise savored these few minutes alone with her daughter.

“Mom,” Aurora said tentatively. “Did you know Dad’s moving?”

Elise nodded. “He told me … last night.” Embarrassed, she kept her back to Aurora as she added cream to her coffee, stirring more than necessary.

“You and Dad seem to be getting along quite well.”

“Uh … We are.”

“It’s all gone so much better than I expected.”

“Yes, but then your father always was a charmer,” Elise said tartly. She turned around and her face heated up at Aurora’s speculative look. “Oh, all right, if you must know, your father and I are sharing a bed.” Elise didn’t understand what possessed her to blurt it out like that. It made their love sound sordid and wrong, when sleeping with Maverick was the most natural thing in the world.

Aurora tried to hide her amusement by taking a sip of coffee. “It’s no secret. David and I guessed right away.”

This was embarrassing. Might as well go for broke. “He wants me to marry him.”

“Will you?”

If she knew the answer to that, she wouldn’t be discussing it with her daughter. “I … I’m not sure what to do. Your father—well, you know your father.”

“I don’t, Mom, not really. I have an image of him, but what Dad’s really like … I guess it’s somewhere between reality and my fantasy.”

“He’s been here all these weeks.”

“Yes,” Aurora said with a deep sigh. “He’s been wonderful with the boys. They adore him and I do, too—but then I always did.”

“I know,” she whispered. There’d been a time when Elise had resented her daughter’s love for her father, but no more. “I’ve made so many mistakes in my life,” she confessed. “I don’t want to make another one.”

“Follow your heart, Mom,” Aurora said quietly. “Follow your heart.”

31
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne was almost afraid of her newfound happiness. Her fledgling business showed real promise. With every birthday party she designed, she booked two and often three more. But Annie was right. She couldn’t continue to do this without paid employees and additional help. With school starting in a few days, she wouldn’t have any choice but to hire an assistant.

What she needed, according to Paul, was a start-up business loan. He seemed so confident she’d get one that her doubts fell away. Because she’d never established credit on her own or even filled out a loan application, he’d promised to look everything over before she visited the bank.

They were meeting Monday at noon on the Seattle waterfront at Myrtle Edwards Park. She’d packed a thick deli sandwich, fruit and a drink as a small thank-you for his thoughtfulness. She was too nervous to eat and intended to go directly to her local bank following their meeting.

She had a picnic table staked out early and sat there, enjoying the late-summer day. The sun’s reflection on the water made it a deep greenish-blue and the wind off Puget Sound was fresh with the briny scent of the sea. A Washington State ferry could be seen leaving the dock, heading for either Bremerton or the town of Winslow on Bainbridge Island.

Bethanne rarely had reason to take the ferry, but in the painful aftermath of divorce, she’d taken one to Bremerton. She’d stood outside in the coldest, wettest part of the winter, tears streaming down her cheeks. The wind and the rain pummeled her, and she prayed with desperation that she’d catch cold and die because death seemed preferable to this horrible pain. How grateful she was now that her prayer hadn’t been answered. It felt as though the sun was shining on her life these days.

She didn’t see Paul until he stepped up to the table. “You’re certainly preoccupied,” he said with a smile.

“Paul,” she gasped. Impulsively she reached out and hugged him—and was shocked when he wrapped his arms around her. They talked almost every day and saw each other two or three times a week. He’d become her confidant and her friend, and they relied on each other for moral support. She didn’t want that to change, and she’d assumed he understood her feelings. Gently she disengaged herself.

“How’s my favorite party girl?” he teased.

“I’m great—I think.” She’d know more after he reviewed her loan application. “I brought you lunch,” she announced and pointed to the small cooler she’d carried from her car.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he protested, slipping into the seat across from her.

“I know, but I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Like what?”

“Paul, don’t you know?” She couldn’t believe he was unaware of how much he’d helped her in the past few months. He’d been her friend when she’d badly needed one. He’d been a major source of encouragement when she’d started her party business. Most importantly, Paul had showed her she was alive again when the divorce had nearly destroyed her. Paul, and her friends at A Good Yarn, had shaped the new Bethanne. The new, improved Bethanne, with dreams and courage and a promising future. She told him all this, and then couldn’t seem to stop talking.

“Okay, okay.” He laughed and held up both hands. “I didn’t have a clue I was such a hero.”

“You are. You’re my hero.”

He sobered then, the laughter vanishing from his eyes. “And you’re mine.”

The intensity of his look made Bethanne uncomfortable, so she opened the small cooler and brought out the thick corned beef sandwich she’d prepared. “Here, I’ll get this ready while you read over the loan application.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably.

As she set up his lunch, Bethanne noticed that her hands were shaking. The last few times she’d been with Paul, she’d recognized the subtle changes in their relationship. The sexual tension between them was all too evident, and that frightened her more than applying for the bank loan. As much as possible, she wanted to keep this relationship safe. She feared that acting on sexual impulses would ruin the friendship, and Bethanne couldn’t bear that.

She spread out a napkin and peeled the wrap from around the sandwich while Paul scanned the loan application.

“You didn’t work after you were married?” he asked, glancing up.

“Well, I did until Andrew was born. I have it down there.” She pointed out where her previous employment was listed on the application. She’d worked in a boutique, doing the display windows. She’d enjoyed her job for the two years she’d worked there.

“That was more than eighteen years ago.”

“I know, but if you take a look at the volunteer work I’ve done, I think it shows I’m qualified and responsible.”

Paul nodded.

Bethanne relaxed. “Okay, be honest now,” she said. “If you were a bank officer, would you give me the loan?”

His hesitation was enough to make her heart stop. “Paul?”

“You said you wanted me to be honest.”

“Yes.” She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s going to be a hard sell. There are disadvantages—and advantages. The fact that you’ve never had your own credit is a negative. So is the fact that you haven’t had a paying job in the last eighteen years.”

“What can I do to make the loan application more attractive?” she asked.

“Show the bank your business records for the work you’ve done this summer.”

Bethanne was afraid he’d say that. She wasn’t much good at this sort of thing and really needed to take a class to learn basic accounting. All her receipts were crammed in a shoe-box. Perhaps Andrew and Annie might be able to help. She recalled that her son had taken a bookkeeping class as a junior, but he was so busy these days with football and his part-time job. And now school was starting again.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” That ironic male voice was easily recognizable to Bethanne.

She smiled serenely. “Hello, Grant.”

Her ex-husband stared at Bethanne and Paul. He didn’t look good; his shirt was wrinkled—not badly, but it wasn’t pressed the way she used to do it. Grant had always been meticulous about his appearance. He needed a haircut, and that was another surprise. He used to have regular appointments. Bethanne knew, because she was the one who’d set up those appointments. They’d been apart for two years, so one would think he’d manage to survive without her by now.

“You know Paul, don’t you?” Bethanne said casually, gesturing toward Tiffany’s ex-husband. Paul lowered his sandwich to the napkin, looked up at Grant and nodded.

“I believe we’ve met,” Grant muttered.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” Bethanne said, hoping to cover the awkward silence. “Annie told me you and Tiffany recently got married. Congratulations.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“I hope you’re very happy,” Bethanne said sincerely. A short while ago, those words might have been filled with sarcasm, but they weren’t now. She felt no animosity toward Grant. She’d once loved him, heart and soul, but he’d betrayed that love and whatever she’d felt for him had been destroyed. That didn’t mean—or it no longer did—that she wanted vengeance. Or that she begrudged him happiness just because he hadn’t found it with her. The moment she’d realized that, she’d finally released him and the bitterness that surrounded their divorce.

“I see Paul’s lucky enough to have you packing his lunch these days,” Grant said. He looked longingly at the sandwich. “You made the best corned beef sandwiches I ever tasted.”

“I’m helping Bethanne with some paperwork,” Paul explained.

Bethanne wanted to elaborate, but stopped herself. This really had nothing to do with Grant. Other than the fact that he was the father of her children, they had little in common any more. The twenty-year history they shared had become irrelevant.

“I see.” Grant offered them both a weak smile.

“It’s a lovely afternoon, which is why Paul suggested we meet in the park,” she added.

Grant seemed uncomfortable. “I saw you here and thought I’d drop by and say hello.” He turned to Paul. “Good to see you again.”

Bethanne doubted he really meant that. She studied Grant and instinctively knew he wasn’t happy. “Is everything okay?” she asked and immediately wished she hadn’t. Even if there was a problem, he wasn’t likely to talk about it in front of Paul.

“Everything’s just great,” he said but his words rang hollow.

The two men stared at each other.

“Andrew said you paid for his football camp.” Grant turned his attention back to her.

Bethanne hadn’t realized Andrew was speaking to his father. This was a good sign, and she was encouraged that father and son had made an effort to overcome their differences.

“You challenged me to find a way to support myself,” Bethanne said with a laugh, “and I have. If nothing else, I should thank you for that.”

He nodded as if accepting her appreciation. “I’m glad it’s working out for you,” he said without irony.

“It is.” She tried to resist the urge to brag but didn’t quite succeed. “I have six parties booked for this week and more calls coming in every day. Annie and a friend of hers created business cards for me, and the kids have been my assistants.”

“Great. A family effort.”

“In more ways than one.”

“I wish you every success,” Grant said. Without another word, he walked away.

Paul glared after him.

“Paul, Paul, Paul,” she whispered and touched his arm. “You’ve got to let it go.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can and you will,” she assured him. “It just takes time.”

He relaxed somewhat, but Bethanne could see he was still agitated by the encounter.

“The only reason I believe it’s possible,” he said thoughtfully, “is because I see it in you. Did I ever mention how much I admire you?”

She grinned. “Once or twice.”

“I’m afraid this will upset you, Bethanne, but it’s the truth—I’m falling in love with you.” He reached for her hand.

Bethanne closed her eyes. She loved Paul, but not in that way.

This was something she didn’t want—or need.

32
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Now that Maverick was living in his condominium, Elise missed him. She’d made the difficult decision to remain where she was for now, but she was miserable without Maverick. She missed everything about him. It’d been that way after the divorce, too. The scent of him, the feel of him, the incredible joy of watching him with their infant daughter …

The ache inside her seemed to grow day by day. And yet it wasn’t as if she didn’t see him. Maverick was at the house almost daily for one reason or another. Each and every visit, he attempted to lure her to his home, to convince her he was a changed man and that she could trust him. So far she’d resisted, but her resolve was weakening. She could feel it crack under the pressure of her own needs, but she dared not give in.

Elise half-expected Maverick this morning. He knew as well as she did that Aurora intended to take the boys shopping for school clothes. The house would be theirs if they chose to take advantage of it.

Half an hour after her daughter left, Elise was anxiously pacing the kitchen. When the bell rang, she dashed to the front door and threw it open. Maverick was right about her—in one area, especially. Elise had a thriving sexual appetite. She’d supressed it all these years but, beginning the night he had told her he was leaving, she’d given it free rein. She liked nothing better than to take her ex-husband to bed in the middle of a hot afternoon. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. If anyone ever learned about this secret part of her nature, she’d die of mortification. She’d simply die.

She loved how much Maverick loved her. All they needed was each other. And yet … could they live with each other?

Elise was afraid that joining her life with his would end the same way it had before. It was inevitable that he’d succumb to his compulsion to gamble again, and she couldn’t handle that.

Despite her hopes, it wasn’t Maverick at the door. “Bethanne!” Elise held open the screen door. Something must be very wrong, because her friend was so pale. “Come in, come in.”

“I hope you don’t mind me just showing up like this.”

“Of course not.” Elise led the way to the living room. She offered to make coffee or tea, but Bethanne declined with a quick shake of her head.

Bethanne sat down on the sofa, plucking a tissue from her purse. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry and look at me. I haven’t said a word and I’m already an emotional wreck.”

Elise sat across from her. “Start at the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Bethanne bit her trembling lower lip. “I—I’ve been to six banks now, and each one rejected my loan application.” While Elise listened, Bethanne reviewed the first five banks and the rejections, which were all because she was considered a poor loan risk.

“Then I talked to Lydia, and she mentioned a neighborhood bank that gave her a loan recently. She told me there were things about her history that made her look like a poor risk, too. On paper, anyway. But you and I both know that Lydia’s a fabulous businessperson. She has more financial sense in her little finger than I do in my entire body. But I’m willing to learn.”

“Of course you can learn,” Elise assured her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Bethanne this upset—not even when she’d first talked about the divorce. “Did you apply with this bank Lydia recommended?” she asked.

Bethanne nodded. “At Lydia’s insistence, I used her as a reference.” She stopped talking long enough to blow her nose. “I just heard back from them yesterday afternoon. After a lot of debate, they decided to refuse me the loan. Elise,” she cried, “I don’t know what to do.”

If Elise had the money herself, she’d lend it to her. In some ways, she felt responsible; she’d been the one to suggest the party business and she was proud of Bethanne’s success.

“How can I help?” she asked.

Bethanne took a moment to collect herself. “Just by listening to me,” she whispered, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I … I admire you so much and I’m so grateful I met you.”

“Me?” Elise blushed at the praise. All she’d ever done was encourage Bethanne. Elise had been a single mother herself, and knew the hardships that entailed.

“Oh, Elise, you’re such a good friend.”

Now it was her turn to tear up. Naturally, she’d had friends through the years, but she’d come to realize that those relationships were superficial. There was no real grief in leaving them behind. Somehow, it was different with the knitting group. Her reserve had slowly begun to dissolve; she even found herself talking about Maverick. Of course, she hadn’t shared the fact that they were sleeping together—that was far too intimate a detail—but she wouldn’t be surprised if her friends had guessed. Until this summer she’d hardly ever mentioned his name.

“I found out something wonderful about Lydia,” Bethanne said. “One time she told me she didn’t owe a single penny to anyone. She was proud of that. All the yarn in her store’s paid for and—until she got this loan—she was pretty well debt-free.”

Elise nodded; she approved of doing business on a pay-as-you-go basis. Far too many young people got caught in the credit trap. It was too easy to use a credit card and pay later. Except that the debt always grew so much faster than anyone seemed to expect. She’d seen it with her own daughter and son-in-law, warned them as gently as she could and then shut up.

“I didn’t want to ask Lydia why she needed a loan. But later Margaret pulled me aside and said Lydia had given the money to her.”

Elise couldn’t hide her surprise. Not at the fact that Lydia had given her sister money, but that Margaret would freely volunteer this information.

“I think she felt sorry for me and wanted to encourage me and I think—I think she wanted me to know what a wonderful sister she has,” Bethanne said.

“Margaret needed the money?”

Bethanne nodded. “She told me her husband’s been out of work for the last six months and they’d gotten behind on their house payments.”

“God bless Lydia,” Elise whispered.

“And she’s hurting so badly,” Bethanne added.

“And now her mother’s in a nursing home.”

“It’s come to that?” The last Elise heard, Margaret and Lydia were researching assisted living facilities.

“She shouldn’t be there more than a week or two,” Bethanne said, “but it’s expensive, even as an interim solution.”

“This doesn’t seem to be a good time economically for any of us, does it?”

“I just hope I can survive for the next few months.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Elise told her. “This business is just too promising to be ignored for long.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Bethanne stared down at the carpet, then sighed deeply. “I so badly want to believe you.”

“Did you get someone to help you with the bookkeeping?” Elise asked, moving on to practical matters.

The younger woman nodded. “Paul’s been going over everything with me.”

The doorbell sounded and before Elise could answer, Maverick strolled into the room, looking about as debonair as she’d ever seen him. Her heart skipped a beat. His gaze went from Elise to Bethanne and back again.

“I can come another time,” he said.

An automatic protest rose in her throat, but she needn’t have worried.

“No, please don’t. I should go,” Bethanne insisted. “I came because I had to talk to a friend. All I really needed was for Elise to tell me I’m not a failure.”

She stood and Elise led her to the front door. Before Bethanne left, they hugged. “Call me anytime, understand?”

Bethanne nodded. “Thank you so much for listening.”

“Anytime,” she repeated.

“I’ll see you Tuesday.” And then Bethanne was gone.

Elise turned to find Maverick standing in the foyer watching her.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“She’s been rejected for six bank loans and is about to give up.”

He frowned. “You’ve been very good to her.”

Elise dismissed his words. “She’s been wonderful to me.”

Maverick slowly advanced toward her. “You’re one hell of a woman, Elise Beaumont.” He slipped his arms around her waist and brought her close with a gentleness that melted her worries.

“Oh, Maverick …”

He kissed her and whispered promises that made her knees weak.

“Come home with me,” he pleaded. “You won’t be sorry.”

She refused with an adamant “No.”

“Elise, I need you with me.”

“I can’t.” The minute she was in his apartment he’d find a way to convince her to move in. She loved him. Despite his flaws and weakness, she loved him.

But she still wasn’t sure she could trust him.

33
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

The second-period bell rang, and the high school erupted into chaos as students poured out of their classrooms. Courtney thought she knew her way around the building. During the orientation session, she’d paid close attention to where her classes were scheduled, but now she felt hopelessly lost.

The one bright spot in the day, she hoped, would be Honors English, because she knew Andrew Hamlin was in the class. Not that she expected him to speak to her or anything. But at least he’d be a familiar face.

The bell rang again, and the halls were suddenly deserted. Courtney pressed her books to her chest and looked around, completely disoriented. Eventually the hall monitor found her and pointed her in the right direction. Knowing she was already late, she ran down one corridor and then another to Honors English.

The class had already begun when she opened the door and attempted to slip inside unnoticed. That would’ve been asking too much, she realized, when she discovered the entire class watching her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled at the teacher. “I got lost.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to find your way tomorrow?” Mr. Hazelton asked sternly.

She nodded, kept her head lowered and found an empty seat as far back in the room as she could. Once she was settled, she searched the class for Andrew and saw that he was three rows to the left of her, near the front.

Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang and Courtney checked her schedule to confirm that this was her lunch hour. She dreaded going into the cafeteria. In Chicago, she would’ve been eating with her friends, laughing and exchanging gossip. Here, she’d stand out like a searchlight in fog. The new kid. Friendless and alone.

She dawdled until the classroom was empty, then gathered up her things and headed out. To her astonishment, Andrew was waiting by the door.

“How’s it going?” he asked. His books were tucked close to his side; Courtney immediately noticed how tanned he was—and how cute.

“About as well as can be expected,” she told him. It seemed everyone was moving in the same direction, and Courtney followed the flow. So did Andrew. She stopped at her locker long enough to drop off her books. She was gratified that Andrew chose to wait for her again. “I certainly know how to make a grand entrance, don’t I?” she said wryly.

Andrew grinned, which made him even more appealing, and Courtney forced herself to glance away. “I haven’t seen Annie yet.”

“She was looking for you earlier.”

That was encouraging.

“How’d you get to school?”

It was embarrassing to admit she’d taken the bus. Her grandmother had needed her car and besides, Courtney had never driven it. All summer she’d used her bicycle for transportation and it’d worked out great. But things were different now. Only nerds rode bicycles to school. So it was either walk or take the bus. Given those choices, she’d opted for the school bus but had been the only senior on board.

“The bus,” she whispered.

“I’d offer to drive you, but I have to come in early because of football.”

He’d do that for her?

“Mom dropped Annie off,” he explained.

“I can’t ask my grandmother to do that.”

He nodded in agreement. “Let me work on it. I know a guy who doesn’t live that far from you. If you were to offer Mike gas money, he’d probably be willing to pick you up.”

Courtney smiled delightedly, relieved and a little astonished at her good fortune. This was a perfect solution and she’d pay whatever his friend wanted. Not only would she avoid the humiliation of the bus, she’d have an opportunity to make a friend.

As they entered the cafeteria, she expected Andrew to join his friends. Instead, he got in the lunch line behind her.

“You’re looking great, by the way,” he said.

She’d worked hard this summer and it felt so good to have him, of all people, notice how much weight she’d lost. “Thanks. You are, too.”

“It’s football,” he explained. “I bulk up every year.” He slid his tray behind her as they advanced in the line. “I’ll talk to Mike and get back to you tonight.”

“Cool.”

She chose a chef’s salad with low-fat dressing and skipped the soda, selecting bottled water instead. If there was an award for righteousness, she should receive it.

“Courtney,” Annie shouted and hurried over to her as soon as she’d finished paying for her salad. “Come and meet my friends.”

“Sure.” She started to walk away and realized she’d abandoned Andrew. Turning back, holding her tray with both hands, she said, “I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

“Later.” He nodded, sauntering across the room to join a group of seniors.

“He’s going to find someone to give me a ride to school,” Courtney told Annie, nearly bursting with the news.

“Mom said he should,” Annie informed her. So much for that, Courtney thought, squelching her disappointment. Bethanne was responsible for this. Well, it shouldn’t matter. Instead of obsessing about the fact that Andrew hadn’t come up with the idea himself, Courtney should be grateful—and she was. Just not as happy as she’d been before.

“Annie!” a girl called out. “Over here.”

Annie hesitated, and when she turned toward the other girl, Courtney sensed reluctance. Courtney followed her to a table occupied by two heavily made-up girls. They had various body parts pierced and were dressed mostly in black leather. Courtney felt completely out of place; for their part, Annie’s friends eyed her as if she’d descended from outer space.

“This is Courtney,” Annie said, introducing her. “We met over the summer. Tina and Shyla.” Annie gestured first to one and then the other.

“Hi,” Courtney said.

“Hi.” Shyla smiled; Tina didn’t.

“You trying out for the cheerleading squad?” Tina, the girl dressed entirely in black, asked. Her nose was pierced in five places.

That these friends of Annie’s figured Courtney was skinny enough to make the grade was a compliment, but she knew they didn’t mean it that way.

“Not really.”

Annie frowned at the other girls. “Courtney’s my friend. Come on, guys, she’s new here.”

Tina turned her gaze from Courtney and stared at Annie. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I’ve been busy, you know,” Annie said.

“With Courtney?” Shyla asked.

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Maybe it’s time you decided who your friends are,” Tina suggested, “because it’s either her kind or us. If you want to be the cheerleader type, just say so.”

“Maybe I do,” Annie muttered. “Come on, Courtney, let’s get out of here.”

Annie marched off, and once again, Courtney followed. She could almost feel the daggers. She didn’t want to get caught alone in the girls’ room with those two anytime soon.

“You were never really one of us, you know,” Tina taunted.

Annie ignored her and led Courtney across the cafeteria.

They found a recently vacated table, where Courtney set down her tray. “Annie, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve outgrown them, anyway.” But she looked more than a little perturbed.

“I don’t want to be—”

She wasn’t allowed to finish before Annie snapped. “Don’t take it personally, all right? This isn’t about you.”

Courtney shrugged, unsure what to say.

Annie frowned as the two of them sat alone at the end of a table. After they’d eaten their salads, Annie took out an apple and munched on that, but they barely exchanged another word.

“I’ll see you later?” Courtney asked when the bell rang.

“I guess.” Annie didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it, though.

When Annie left, Courtney returned her tray to the kitchen area, where she saw two other girls with their heads together, whispering and looking at her. She recognized Shelly and Melanie, Andrew’s supposed girlfriend and her sidekick. She wanted to wave and let them know she realized they were talking about her, but decided it was better, not to mention easier, just to ignore them.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. She wasn’t late for any other classes and that, at least, was an improvement. Still, her stomach was in knots when school was over and she headed to the bus line. She hoped the ride situation would work out with that friend of Andrew’s.

As she climbed onto the bus, Courtney saw Annie with the two discontented girls from the cafeteria. They stood in a tight circle talking. No one was smiling.

“You getting on or not?” the guy behind Courtney asked when she paused on the steps.

“Sorry,” she murmured, hurrying into the bus. As she took her seat, she looked out the side window and saw Andrew talking to Melanie. He had his arm around her waist and she was gazing up at him with wide-eyed wonder. It was enough to make Courtney puke. Leaning against the window, she closed her eyes. She’d do her best to get through this year; there was no other alternative.

She had no expectations and apparently no friends.

34
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise’s disillusion came soon after school started for her grandsons. She’d expected it all along, knew Maverick wouldn’t be able to stay away from gambling. The entire time he’d been in Seattle she’d been waiting, listening, expecting the worst. If she was surprised by anything, it was that Maverick had held out as long as he did. She learned the truth the day her book club met.

“Your father said he’d be by to drive me to the library this afternoon,” Elise told Aurora after she’d waited as long as she could. Until now, Maverick had always been punctual. She’d known it was a mistake to rely on him, but it had been too hard to resist. Now she had to scurry in order to make the book club meeting.

“I’m sure he has a perfectly good explanation,” her daughter said, ever eager to defend her father.

Still the niggling doubts had begun to form. Maverick mysteriously disappeared for several hours once a week. He swore he hadn’t been gambling, but he hadn’t felt inclined to enlighten her as to where he spent his time, either. She hadn’t pressed him; she knew it was because she was afraid of what she’d find out.

Elise had other worries, too. Aurora had been acting differently toward Maverick. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on exactly how the father-daughter relationship had changed, but it had. She’d noticed it a few weeks ago—whispered conversations, intercepted glances, a sense of confidences shared. Elise felt excluded, although she tried not to.

Aurora offered to drive her, but Elise declined. “I’ll take the bus. It’s not a problem,” Elise murmured. Her daughter was right about Maverick. He probably did have a credible excuse, only Elise supposed that was exactly what it would be. An excuse. A lie …

“I’m sure Dad’ll be there to pick you up,” Aurora said as she walked Elise to the front door.

She nodded, but she suspected otherwise. During the bus trip, she tried—unsuccessfully—to forget her fears. She got off automatically and transferred to the second bus. After all these years of traveling by Metro, Elise knew the schedules as well as her own address.

She arrived late, and the meeting itself was a blur. By the time the group broke up, she knew it had been pointless to attend. She hadn’t been able to concentrate, and contributed little to the discussion.

Her doubts and suspicions regarding Maverick were simply impossible to ignore. She knew his history, and yet she’d so badly wanted to believe him that she’d played a dangerous game of pretend. Loving him again had come so easy—too easy.

On the short walk to the bus stop, she passed a number of card rooms. She passed them whenever she took this route but had never before felt even the slightest inclination to glance inside. But now the need to find Maverick consumed her. She wanted to burst into these places, slamming open the doors, hoping to catch him in his lie. But through sheer willpower, she resisted. That was a degrading thing she’d done early in their marriage, dragging their infant daughter into bowling alleys and taverns, looking for Maverick. Praying she’d find him before he lost the money they needed for rent.

The memories bombarded her, and when she stepped off the bus late that afternoon, she was emotionally exhausted. She wasn’t surprised to see Maverick’s car parked in front of the house. She made a decision then: she couldn’t do this anymore.

He didn’t meet her eyes when she walked in the door, which was another sure sign he’d been up to no good.

“Hello,” she said stiffly.

“Elise.” He cast a look toward their daughter, who promptly left the room. “I figure you and I should talk. I apologize for not being here to take you to your readers’ group.” He paused for a few seconds. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I knew you probably would be,” she said, setting her purse on the small table in the hallway. Her throat was dry as she walked into the kitchen and took a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. Hand trembling, she reached for a glass.

“I’m hoping we can talk about this,” he said, standing not more than two feet behind her. When she glanced around, she saw that he’d folded his hands like a repentant child.

She shrugged as if it was of no importance. Compared to missing their daughter’s childhood—missing their entire marriage, for that matter—this was minor.

“You were counting on me,” he said.

“The bus was fine.”

“Come on, Elise.” He held out his hands. “I hate it when you’re angry with me. I’m not a grade-school child who’s come to you about an overdue book. I’m your husband.”

“Ex-husband,” she reminded him.

“All right, so we’re divorced, but—”

“You were gambling this afternoon.” It wasn’t a question. She knew, and she suspected that was where he’d been every week, although he’d denied it.

“Would you listen for once?” he demanded.

“No. There’s nothing more to be said. You made your choice all those years ago, and you’ve made the same choice again. Gambling is more important than me, than our marriage, more important than anything. I’m not surprised. Why should I be? It’s only history repeating itself.” Putting down the glass after a single swallow, she walked through the hallway to her room.

Maverick followed her, leaping back as she shut the door. Despite her anger, Elise hadn’t intended to slam it in his face. She leaned her shoulder against it, feeling too weak to stand without support.

Maverick paced outside in the hallway; she could hear the sound of his footsteps. “All I ask is that you listen. Please, honey, just listen.”

She closed her eyes. He hadn’t called her honey since before the divorce.

“I love you, Elise. I know you don’t believe that, and I don’t blame you, but it’s true.”

The declaration was all too familiar. Unable to stop herself, she jerked open the door. “I do believe you love me,” she said with great calm, “but you love cards more.” She watched Maverick’s face twist with pain and feared it was a reflection of her own. Unable to look at him, she gently closed the door.

“No, no, you’ve got to believe me,” he pleaded. “I’m doing this for you.”

Elise stood facing the door. That, too, was a common excuse of his. It was never for him, never about what he wanted. He’d squander what little they had on the promise of more. Except that promise had almost always proved to be empty.

Granted, he’d obviously made a certain amount of money through the years—to meet his child support obligations, to travel—but she was sure he’d lost far more than he’d ever won. That was the pattern with gamblers.

“This afternoon I was playing poker,” he confessed. “I wanted to talk to you about it first, but I knew you’d be upset. You get this … this look and it rips me up inside. Makes me feel like I’ve disappointed you again. I couldn’t bear to see it.”

It hadn’t stopped him, though.

“I wore the socks you knit me and felt close to you the entire time I was playing. They brought me luck.”

Elise wished she’d given those socks to David the way she’d originally intended.

“I won the tournament, Elise,” he said triumphantly.

She refused to answer him. Winning was possibly the worst thing that could’ve happened. It only made the situation worse. Maverick would feel encouraged. He’d wager more and more until he’d lost everything, including his pride. In those early years, she’d seen him down on his luck too many times, sick at heart, emotionally depleted.

“Don’t you want to know how much I won?”

“No!”

“It was my lucky socks,” he shouted through the barrier of the door.

Refusing to listen, she turned on her television, blocking out anything else he had to say. She didn’t notice when he left, but she checked ten minutes later and he was gone.

Aurora watched her closely as Elise entered the kitchen. She put on a fine performance, if she did say so herself. Thankfully Maverick was out of the house, but she guessed he’d be back for dinner.

“Dad asked me to talk to you,” Aurora said. Elise was setting the table for their evening meal. She included a place for Maverick; her daughter would ask too many questions if she didn’t. David was in the family room reading the paper and the boys were playing in the backyard.

“He’s gambling again,” Elise told her, in case Aurora hadn’t figured it out.

“I know.”

“How long has this been going on?” She was suddenly afraid that her daughter had been in on the deception.

Aurora looked at her. “As far as I know, this was the first time since he got here.”

“Listen to me, Aurora,” Elise said frantically, clasping her daughter’s shoulders. “Your father has a gambling addiction.”

“He’s a professional gambler.” Aurora’s voice was unemotional. “Yes, I agree, he can get carried away, but he loves it.”

Elise hated that her own daughter couldn’t or wouldn’t recognize the problem. “Gambling is a disease—not unlike being an alcoholic or using drugs—and it’s just as destructive to a marriage and a family.” She wanted to remind her that Maverick’s love of gambling had destroyed their own family, but she bit back the words. She’d said what she needed to say.

“He isn’t as bad as you make him sound,” Aurora insisted.

Not wanting to argue, Elise dropped her hands. “He’s your father and you love him. I’m not going to say anything against Maverick—except to plead with you to open your eyes and admit the truth.”

Aurora’s gaze implored her. “He loves you, Mom, he really does.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know.” Maverick did love her as much as he was able to love anyone—but it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough thirty-seven years ago and it wasn’t enough now.

“He promised me he’d stop as soon as this tournament is over,” Aurora said.

Elise had heard all that before, too. “And you believe him?” If this wasn’t so tragic, she’d laugh.

“Yes, I do. He’s—” Aurora bit her lip.

“He’s what?”

“He’s doing this out of love for you. To help you. That’s what he said.”

Elise burst into such loud, derisive laughter that David, who’d turned on the evening news, glanced over his shoulder.

“Then advise him not to love me so much,” she whispered. “Furthermore, I don’t want or need his help. Can’t you see that’s only an excuse?”

“Oh, Mom.”

“I think it might be best if we didn’t discuss your father again.” She spoke as if this had been a pleasant everyday conversation.

“You’re not going to talk to him?”

“No. I’d appreciate if you’d let me know when he’ll be at the house, because I’ll make a point of staying in my room or not being here.”

“Mom, don’t do this.”

Elise was saddened to see her daughter hurt. Aurora might be married and a mother herself, but that little-girl part of her continued to search for a happy ending. Like every child, she needed her father and craved the security of knowing that her parents loved each other.

“Grandma, Grandma,” Luke shouted as he ran in from outside.

“What is it?” Elise asked, crouching down so they were at eye level.

“Did you hear?” he cried. “Did you hear?”

“Luke …” Aurora warned.

“It’s okay. Grandpa said I could tell if I wanted to.”

Elise frowned up at her daughter. She’d wondered if Aurora was holding something back, but hadn’t been sure what. “Grandpa’s going to the Carry Bean for a poker tournament!” Elise blinked. “The Caribbean?” she asked Aurora as she straightened. Maverick had already broken his promise. One moment he swore he was through; the next, he booked his passage to play in another tournament.

35
CHAPTER

“Knitting is just the best ever hobby! Creative, therapeutic, stress-busting, relaxing and rewarding, it’s the perfect way to both express your creativity and to gently unwind. Make it part of your everyday life.”

—Kate Buller, Brand Manager, Handknittings. (Rowan Yarns, Jaeger Handknits, Patons, R2)

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Margaret had been working a lot of hours at the shop while I made the arrangements for our mother’s continuing care, since I’m the one with the most experience in dealing with medical bureaucracy. I needed to get the paperwork set up at the nursing home first and then I’d organize her finances so Mom could make a smooth transition to the assisted living complex we’d found.

This time-consuming work gave me a new appreciation for everything my parents had gone through when I was first diagnosed with cancer. Hours of sorting through bank statements, old receipts, insurance information. Hours spent on the phone and in meetings. Hours on the computer. Hours—days—away from the shop. Then there was the time I spent with the real estate agent and cleaning Mom’s house before we listed it. That couldn’t be put off. We needed the money to finance her care.

It wasn’t until Friday afternoon as I counted out the money from the till that I realized my gross intake for the second week of September was almost half of what it’d been for any week in August. A quick check of my nightly deposits showed a substantial decrease in revenues. I’d known that spending so much time away from the shop would be detrimental to business, but I had no idea it would have this much impact.

Margaret just isn’t a natural salesperson, nor does she share my appreciation for yarn. I knew all that, but I couldn’t ask anyone else. She’s familiar with the shop and my regular customers in a way no one other than me is. And she’s my sister.

While I tallied the figures again, a sense of doom came over me. I had loan payments now, and they made a significant dent in my income. I’d wanted to repay the bank as quickly as possible, so I’d asked for an eighteen-month payment schedule. I could always go back to request an extension, but it wouldn’t look good if I had to do that after only the second payment. Although nothing was said, I had the impression this shortened loan period was one of the reasons the bank had agreed to give me the money.

I sat at my desk, feeling sick to my stomach. The summer months are usually slower, but my sales had doubled from the previous year. Now, not only did they seem to be slipping, I had a huge financial obligation to worry about. There were cost-saving options, such as decreasing orders, but I didn’t want to do this. Part of my success, I believed, was that I carried a wide range of yarns from the inexpensive to the more exclusive.

I was so preoccupied with these worries that I didn’t hear the knock at the shop door until the pounding grew louder. Leaping out of my chair, I hurried into the main part of the store; normally I’d simply explain that we were closed, but right now I didn’t feel I could turn down a single sale.

However, it wasn’t a customer. Brad stood at the door with his hands cupped around his face, peering inside. As soon as he saw he’d gotten my attention, he backed away from the glass.

The last time we’d talked had been almost a month ago. I’d had brief conversations with Cody but they seemed as painful for him as they were for me. When I’d talked to Cody at the end of August, his mother must have been standing close by, because he sounded tentative and cautious, almost as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t called me since.

Unlocking the door, I sighed. I didn’t have the physical energy or emotional resources to talk to Brad, so I decided not to allow him inside. Instead, I stood in the opening and waited.

“Hi,” I said, hoping I’d found the right tone to convey my feelings.

“Hi,” Brad said, hands in his uniform pockets. “Hadn’t seen you at the store in a while.”

I could’ve stated the obvious and told him I hadn’t been at the shop more than an hour or so each day, but that seemed unnecessary. I didn’t respond.

“Margaret said you found a place for your mom?”

He made it a question. I answered as if it was. “We’re planning to move her next week.” If I could finish all the paperwork, arrange for all the necessary medical records, finalize the sale of Mom’s house and complete my dealings with her lawyer and her bank.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m okay.” I didn’t want Brad’s sympathy; his concern would be my undoing. I was tempted to ask about Janice, but didn’t. If they were getting along well, I didn’t want to hear it. At the same time, I didn’t want to know if their reconciliation wasn’t working out. Just then, at the end of a long day in an emotionally crowded week, I couldn’t deal with another crisis. “How’s Cody?” It hurt my heart to ask because I missed him so much—missed our talks, missed hearing about his dog and the tricks he’d taught Chase. Difficult though our conversations often were, I needed them. I loved that child.

“He’s doing great,” he said quickly, which I suppose was Brad’s way of informing me that his happy little family was flourishing.

“Give him my love, would you?”

“Of course. I’ve been worried about you,” he added as he stared down at the sidewalk.

“Worried about me?” I asked, forcing surprise into my voice. “Whatever for?”

He looked up, wearing a crooked half smile. “I know you, Lydia. When you’re under stress, it shows.”

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me in weeks.”

“I have seen you—I just haven’t made a point of seeking you out. You’re tired and—”

“Yes,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t need Brad Goetz to tell me what I already knew.

“Let me take you out for a drink,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“I know you’re dating someone else now, but this is just as friends.”

Actually, I could hardly believe Margaret hadn’t enlightened Brad, hadn’t told him I’d lied about meeting someone new. I’d done that out of pride, and I regretted it.

“Why not?”

“I have one hard and fast rule when it comes to men,” I said, smiling as I spoke. “I avoid the married ones.”

“Janice and I are divorced.”

“Are you or are you not reconciling?” I snapped. Damn it, he couldn’t have it both ways.

He didn’t answer at first, then muttered, “Janice and I are talking.”

“In that case, having a drink with me would be inappropriate. I appreciate the offer, Brad, but … I don’t think so.”

Brad said goodbye rather abruptly and left. I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed, and watched him walk away, feeling empty and alone. I closed and locked the door again, then returned slowly to my office.

When someone tapped on the door ten minutes later, I half suspected Brad had come back. I turned and retraced my steps to peer through the glass.

It wasn’t Brad. Instead, Alix Townsend stood on the other side. She held a plate of chocolate éclairs, which guaranteed I’d open the door.

“Hi,” she greeted me cheerfully as I let her in.

I’d dropped in at the charity knitting session that afternoon and she hadn’t been there, so I’d guessed she was working at the café. Her classes were usually in the morning.

“I saw you and Brad talking just now. You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to—but I thought these might help.”

I hid a smile. Brad might have succeeded in getting past my threshold if he’d brought chocolate.

“I don’t have any worries a chocolate éclair won’t cure,” I said, leading the way to the office. “I’ve got coffee on, if you’re interested.”

“I’d love a cup.” Alix followed me into my tiny office, where she settled on a corner of my desk, moving papers aside and making herself at home. I didn’t mind. That was Alix—why sit on a chair if there was a desk? Why walk if you could run? I loved her exuberance, her loyalty and her frequently unconventional behavior.

I poured her a mug and felt slightly guilty because it looked so dark. I hoped it wasn’t bitter.

“So Brad came to see you,” she said, unable to hide her curiosity, after all.

In retrospect, my attitude toward him seemed coldhearted. Unkind. Part of me wanted to call him back, to begin the conversation all over again. I wouldn’t, though. Leaving things as they were was for the best. “Lydia?” Alix asked. She reached out to touch me.

I nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Anything happening?” Although she’d brought the éclairs for me, Alix scooped one off the plate and took a bite. When the custard filling oozed out from the sides, she grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk.

“Nothing really. How about with you and Jordan?”

Alix raised her eyebrows. “You’re changing the subject.” She picked up the plate and offered me an éclair.

I didn’t need a second invitation. “I know. I don’t want to talk about Brad, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t want to talk about you, either,” Alix informed me. “He makes a delivery to the café every now and then, and he’s his old chatty self until I mention your name. Then he shuts up tighter than a coffin.”

I didn’t like the image. “We both have our reasons.”

“So it seems.” She hopped down from the desk. “Gotta go. Jordan and I are seeing a movie with the youth group tonight. I just thought I’d come over and say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. I walked her to the door, unlocking it and letting her out. As soon as she was gone, I relocked the door, found Whiskers waiting for me and headed up the stairs to my apartment—first remembering to turn off the lights and retrieve Alix’s plate. I could’ve been having a drink with Brad, I mused nostalgically, but for emotional protection, I’d decided on my own company. I’d spend the night with my television, my cat and my éclairs.

Whiskers meowed as though to remind me I wasn’t alone. He was absolutely right.

36
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne had three parties scheduled that week and she’d carefully gone over the budget for each. Finances would be tight until her alimony check arrived and she received full payment for the parties. Paying for all her supplies out of her dwindling checking account meant she’d have very little cash until the weekend, which meant, in turn, that she’d have to delay buying groceries. She didn’t dare use her VISA to buy party stuff; she’d reached her credit limit. Still, she could manage until she deposited the various checks. The problem was, she found herself writing checks and hoping they wouldn’t clear for a few days. It was a complicated balancing act, since her expenses still exceeded her income.

Unfortunately, Annie and Andrew constantly needed money for one thing or another. Their school expenses were legitimate and she couldn’t defer them. These amounts, plus household bills and business costs—a balancing act, indeed.

The phone rang, and although she hoped it was another party booking, Caller ID showed that it was her bank. She grabbed the receiver, praying that somehow the loan officer had recognized the error of his ways and was calling to offer her a loan.

A few years ago, Grant had taken her to Vegas and they’d brought travelers’ checks that equaled more than what she wanted to borrow now. Vegas? The trip was a complete surprise and Bethanne had been so pleased and excited. In light of what she’d learned since, she suspected Grant had arranged it out of guilt.

“Hello,” she answered in her most cheerful voice. “This is Bethanne.”

Her smile quickly died as the bank manager explained that a check she’d written to the local service station had bounced. In the past, the bank had provided overdraft protection, for a fee, to cover small amounts, but wouldn’t any longer. In addition, the service station charged a seventy-five-dollar fee for bounced checks.

“Seventy-five dollars,” she cried, outraged at the unnecessary expense. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“I assure you I’m not.”

“How … much is this going to cost me?” A tank of gas was normally about twenty-five dollars; now there were bank fees, penalties and the seventy-five bucks the service station had heaped on.

The total was staggering. “How much?” she cried.

“When would it be convenient for you to make a deposit?” the bank manager asked.

“I—I—” She didn’t have it; she simply didn’t have it. The only thing left to do was take a ring or two down to the pawnshop and see what she could get. “I’ll bring some money this afternoon,” she said meekly, feeling chastised.

The manager wasn’t an ogre—he was only doing his job—but Bethanne was in a panic. She rushed upstairs to her jewelry box and sorted through what she had, which wasn’t much.

Why, oh why, hadn’t Grant given her a diamond bracelet instead of that stupid trip to Vegas? A bracelet she could cash in, but the trip had been a waste. Grant lost all the money they’d taken with them. That hadn’t stopped him from returning, she noted bitterly. He’d married Tiffany in Vegas. Bethanne found herself hoping he’d lost big—in more ways than one.

This negative thinking wasn’t good for her, but she felt desperate. Other than pawning her jewelry, she had very few options. Annie and Andrew had bank accounts and could probably lend her what she needed. She supposed that was better than asking Grant. But … she couldn’t do either of those things. The bank could repossess the house before she’d approach her ex-husband for another dime. Asking family, especially her kids, or her friends was out of the question. She had her pride—and, apparently, very little else.

After much deliberation, Bethanne chose her wedding band—it wasn’t doing her any good in a jewelry box—and a small sapphire ring, plus a pair of gold earrings. Surely that would give her enough to at least cover the check, the fees and the penalties.

She was sickened by how little money she got for all three, but it was enough to pay the necessary minimum at the bank. This had been a valuable lesson. She couldn’t write checks for money she didn’t have, no matter how soon she’d have it.

As she walked out of the bank, she nearly collided with her ex-husband in the parking lot. Her face instantly went beetred, as though Grant could read on her forehead the reason for her visit.

“Bethanne,” Grant said, taking her by the shoulders in order to steady her.

“Grant.” She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Hi … I was just—” She closed her mouth, refusing to embarrass herself. This wasn’t his concern.

“You’re looking good,” he said, stepping back to admire her.

The new hairstyle had been an extravagance she regretted. Annie and Courtney had talked her into it. The stylist had done wonders with her hair and suggested she color it. When Bethanne explained she couldn’t possibly afford that, the two girls had insisted they could do it.

They’d selected one of the more expensive brands—another ten bucks—in a deep brunette with auburn overtones. Considering that she’d put herself in the hands of teenagers, it’d turned out surprisingly well.

“Thanks,” Bethanne said casually.

“What are you doing here?” Grant asked.

As if that was any of his business. “Making a deposit. What about you?” He didn’t need to know the details, but at least she’d told him the truth.

“A withdrawal,” he said, and he didn’t sound too happy about it. “Switching money from savings to checking.”

“For little ol’ me?” she asked in her most saccharine drawl.

“Actually, no,” he said, frowning.

“Could it be that your new wife is straining your finances?” she asked, not hiding the gleam in her eyes.

Grant snickered. “You don’t know the half of it.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking, which should’ve pleased her, but Bethanne was bothered by the dark circles under his eyes. “Is everything okay with you, Grant?” she asked. His well-being no longer had anything to do with her, and yet she couldn’t prevent the automatic rush of concern.

“Would it make you happy if I said it wasn’t?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “As a matter of fact, I’m blissfully happy.”

Bethanne hadn’t realized what a poor liar he was and wondered why she hadn’t seen through him during the years he’d been having that affair. She supposed it was because she hadn’t wanted to know. “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said. She was sincere.

He shrugged in an offhand way.

It was ironic, really, that they’d have their first decent conversation in a parking lot months after their divorce.

“So how’s the relationship with the Boy Toy?” he asked. “Or is it the Toy Boy?”

“Do you mean Paul?” she said sharply. So much for decent. “It doesn’t bother us that I’m older, anymore than it bothers you that Tiffany’s fifteen years younger,” she said. “Besides, I can see anyone I choose. You didn’t want to be married to me, and Tiffany didn’t want to be with Paul. He and I have a lot in common.”

“You got the new hairstyle for him, didn’t you? Are you trying to look younger?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

“I’d better get back to the house,” she said, eager to leave. She thought of mentioning the Homecoming Dance at the end of the month but decided against it. Grant would learn soon enough that their son had been voted part of the Homecoming Court.

Grant nodded, hands in his pants pockets. “It was good to see you, Bethanne.” He offered her a slight smile. “I do mean that.”

“Thanks. It was good seeing you, too.”

Bethanne started toward her car, but stopped to look back. Grant was still standing in the same spot, staring after her.

She almost gave him a friendly wave. She didn’t wish her ex-husband ill. Okay, sometimes she did, but she’d also made real progress toward forgiveness this summer.

She hated being alone, but in reality nothing had changed. Grant might’ve been living at the house two years ago and sharing her bed, but he’d been emotionally involved with another woman. And that meant he hadn’t been fully committed to his family—as he’d proven since.

Yes, her financial situation was uncomfortable, but she was a fast learner. Yes, she was bound to make mistakes, but she had a new life and a good friend in Paul. She was close to her children.

The odd man out was Grant, who seemed to have some regrets. He’d hinted at it, then claimed, rather unconvincingly, that he was happy. She doubted he’d tell her the truth.

37
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

Courtney hadn’t heard from her father in a week. She was growing frightened; that just wasn’t like him. He might go a day or two without e-mailing her, but never a week. While Ralph Pulanski, Jr. had been silent, the e-mails had flown between Courtney, her sister and their older brother. They were as worried as she was. The three of them clung to each other.

Courtney hid her fears from her grandmother as much as she could. Grams was doing a lot of knitting these days—to comfort herself, Courtney figured. Mostly she and Grams said reassuring things to each other, like “I’m sure he’s fine,” and “Maybe his computer broke down.”

Jason had tried to reach their father through the construction company that employed him, but he’d learned nothing concrete. According to the executive Jason had talked to, the area was known to be secure and there was no reason for alarm. The company would try to get in touch with him; that was as much as they’d promise at this point.

Julianna, who was back at school and on a tight budget, broke down and phoned Courtney. They talked for twenty minutes.

“I miss you so much,” Courtney told her sister, struggling not to weep. She clutched the telephone receiver to her ear, as if that would bring Julianna closer.

“How’s school?”

Her sister would ask. “It’s okay.” Courtney tried to brush off the question because they had bigger concerns than her inability to make friends, other than Annie Hamlin, and her sense of being alone.

“Don’t give me that,” Julianna said sternly in a voice so like their mother’s that it took Courtney’s breath away. “I want to know how you’re really doing.”

“Awful.” It was the truth. “I thought if I lost weight I’d be instantly popular,” Courtney confessed. “I thought boys would be asking for my phone number, but it isn’t like that at all.” Of course, there was only one boy who interested her, and that was Andrew Hamlin. Unfortunately, he had a long-standing girlfriend.

Annie claimed Melanie was living in a dreamworld, and Andrew was no more going steady with her than he was with Britney Spears. The evidence, which Courtney had seen for herself, said otherwise.

“Twenty-five pounds is a lot to lose, and I’m proud of you. You feel better, don’t you?”

“Health-wise, you mean? Yeah, I guess.” She did feel better now that those pounds were off. She, too, was proud of that accomplishment, but she’d hoped for certain things that hadn’t come to pass. In fact, everything remained exactly as it was before. When you came right down to it, all that had changed was the number on Grams’s antique scale. Oh, and some of her pants were looser around the waist.

“Call if you need me,” Julianna said. “I mean it, Court.”

“Okay. Keep in touch about Dad.”

“I will,” her sister promised.

Courtney was grateful for her sister’s call. She wished they could talk regularly. Although Julianna was older and had been away from home for nearly three years, she was close to their dad. Caught up in her own woes, Courtney hadn’t spent enough time considering her sister’s feelings.

Wednesday morning, eight days since her last communication with her father, Courtney didn’t feel like going to school. Grams said she understood, but encouraged Courtney to go anyway.

“You won’t resolve anything sitting by the phone all day,” Grams said with perfect logic.

After sleeping fitfully for two nights, Courtney had hoped to rest, but she knew her grandmother was right. While she might not have made a lot of friends yet, she was better off at school than hanging around at home, waiting and worrying.

Mike, Andrew’s friend, picked her up to drive her to school. Courtney paid him ten dollars a week and appreciated not having to take the bus. The only problem was Mike himself, who seemed inordinately shy. He rarely said a word, either on the way to school or on the way home. At first she’d tried to carry the conversation, but after a week of minimal responses, she’d given up.

Wouldn’t you know it? This was the morning Mike discovered he had a tongue.

“Did you hear from your dad?” he asked as she climbed into his fifteen-year-old Honda.

“Not yet.”

“Are you worried?”

“What do you think?” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but that was a stupid question if she’d ever heard one.

“I think you’re worried,” he concluded.

Courtney closed her eyes and leaned her head against the passenger window, just praying there’d be an e-mail from her father when she got home from school.

“Are you ready for the English test?” he asked next.

She straightened abruptly. “There’s a test?” Preoccupied as she’d been with her father, she hadn’t paid attention. “On what?”

“Poetry.”

She groaned. Perhaps if she showed up at the office and claimed she had the flu, they’d believe her and let her go home.

Home. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of her grandmother’s place as home. It was Grams’s house, not hers.

Mike parked and they walked wordlessly into the school. Once in the building, they went their separate ways, Mike to the left and Courtney to the right. She had, at best, five minutes to leaf through her book of poems and her English notes before the bell rang. Dickinson. Whitman. Who else?

She stood outside her homeroom, leaning against the wall, as she flipped desperately from one page to the next.

“Hi.” Andrew sidled up to her, books under his arm.

Surprised, Courtney nearly dropped her own book. “I didn’t realize we had a test today,” she declared, her nose in the book as she tried to take in as much information as possible.

“In what?”

“English—poetry. Nineteenth-century American. I think.”

He didn’t seem to know about it, either.

“Mike told me.”

“That explains it,” Andrew said. “He’s in regular Senior English, we’re Honors. Mr. Hazelton didn’t mention a test. I don’t even think we’re studying the same material.”

A wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you, God.” She raised her head toward the ceiling.

“And they say school prayer is dead,” Andrew teased.

She smiled.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

They stood there for a few minutes before going to their homerooms. Rather than discuss her worries about her father, Courtney merely shrugged. “How about you?”

What a dumb question. She realized it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Andrew had just been named part of the Homecoming Court, exactly as Shelly had predicted. As head cheerleader, Melanie had also been a nominee. On the afternoon before the big game, the king and queen would be chosen at a school assembly. Again according to Shelly, Melanie and Andrew would take the prize.

“I’m fine,” Andrew said. He didn’t seem that excited about his nomination. “What about your dad?”

“He’s still missing,” Courtney blurted out. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Andrew, I’m so worried! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to my dad.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to hide them by staring down at the floor.

To her shock, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“No, it isn’t,” she cried, sobbing openly now. “I need my father.” He, more than anyone, held the family together. He was her father and she’d already lost her mother, and if her father was dead she couldn’t bear it.

“I know, I know,” he murmured.

She looked up at him with wet eyes, unable to speak.

“If anything happened to my mother,” he went on, “I’d feel just like you do right now, but I will tell you this. No matter what happens, you’ll find your way through it. Isn’t that what you told Annie?”

Courtney sniffed and nodded. She grabbed a tissue from her purse and blew her nose, embarrassed by all the attention they’d attracted. It didn’t seem to bother Andrew, though, and she pretended it didn’t bother her, either.

“That was good advice,” Andrew said. “Annie was close to losing it when you signed up for that knitting class with my mom. I’m so glad you did, because she needed a friend. She’s still got a few problems, but she’s so much better now, thanks to you.”

Courtney was too stunned to respond.

“I didn’t thank you properly, but maybe I can help you with your dad. Do you think it’d be all right if I came to your grandmother’s house after football practice?”

It required a monumental effort to simply nod. The final bell rang for homeroom.

“Gotta go,” Andrew said. “See you later.” He hurried down the hall.

Courtney dashed into her own classroom, marveling that one person could experience so many emotions in such a short time.

As soon as Mike dropped her off at Grams’s after school, Courtney raced upstairs to her computer and logged on.

“Any word?” her grandmother shouted from the foot of the stairs.

Her heart fell when she hurriedly scanned her in-box. Nothing from her father. “No,” she called back, dispirited.

The phone rang and normally Courtney would’ve answered it, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Not even Andrew. Despite what she’d said about getting through whatever you had to, she didn’t think she could. She couldn’t lose her father. There weren’t enough chocolate chip cookies or skeins of yarn or comforting words to see her through that.

“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll get her right away.” She could hear her grandmother’s voice. “Courtney, phone,” she yelled even as Courtney walked down the stairs. “Someone wants to talk to you.” Smiling, she held out the receiver.

The minute Courtney heard her father, she burst into tears of joy. The phone connection wasn’t the greatest as her dad poured out his story of being stranded in the jungle for five days with no way to get in touch. There’d been torrential rains while they were surveying but he was safe. He was sorry to have caused his family so much worry.

The tears had yet to dry on her cheeks when Andrew arrived. Courtney was on the phone with Julianna and had just finished talking to Jason.

“I have company and I need to go,” she told her sister, glancing self-consciously at Andrew. He stood awkwardly in the living room, being fussed over by Grams.

“Boy or girl?” Julianna pressed.

“It’s a B,” she muttered.

“Andrew?”

“Yes,” she hissed. It was clear she’d told her sister far more than she should have.

“Then get off the phone and entertain your company,” Julianna teased.

Grams was a gracious hostess. She’d seated Andrew on the sofa and chatted away with him as though he was a longtime family friend.

Courtney walked shyly into the room, and Grams smiled over at her. “I was just telling Andrew that you heard from your father.”

“I was talking to my sister.” Embarrassed, she pointed to the ancient black phone at the foot of the stairs.

“Is this the young man you mentioned?” Grams asked, lowering her voice as if Andrew couldn’t hear the question. “The one you’re knitting the socks for?”

Courtney wished she could snap her fingers and vanish, like the witch on that old TV series Grams sometimes watched. Her face felt hot and she glared at her grandmother.

“She knit a lovely pair for her dad,” her grandmother was saying. “Those were navy blue, but these are green and—” She looked quizzically at Courtney. “Oh, dear, was that supposed to be a surprise?” Getting up with uncharacteristic agility, Grams scurried to the kitchen.

Andrew stood, his eyes holding hers. “You’re knitting me socks?”

Courtney nodded. “I’m just finishing up the gusset on the second one, but it’s nearly done.”

“That’s the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me. It’s really … sweet.”

Sweet. He thought of her as sweet. That was the last thing Courtney wanted.

38
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Bethanne’s invitation to visit was a welcome reprieve in the middle of Elise’s week. Bethanne had asked if she’d help check her budget. Elise was no expert, but she was willing to do what she could. She was also grateful for an excuse to get out of the house.

Neither Aurora nor David ever mentioned Maverick in her presence. Unfortunately her grandsons, oblivious to the tension between their estranged grandparents, dragged his name into practically every conversation. Maverick was playing in some poker game in the Carry Bean, as the boys called it. She wished him well, but she couldn’t be part of his life. Their second attempt at being a couple was as much of a failure as the first. No, it was over for good.

The bus dropped her off a block from Bethanne’s. She liked the other woman and found that they had more in common than anyone might expect. As divorced mothers, they’d been left to deal with the children and the house and everything else. Well, no need to dwell on that old history now, she decided.

The Hamlins’ neighborhood was a busy one, and the house itself was charming. Elise walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, admiring the garden as she did. She’d just leaned over to take a closer look at a huge, coppery chrysanthemum when a smiling Bethanne opened the door. A pot of tea and a plate of brownies waited on the kitchen table.

“Thank you for doing this,” Bethanne said, handing over a spiral notebook. “I asked you because this whole party business was your idea and … well, because you seem so clear-headed and sensible to me.” She sighed. “I’ve gone over these figures a dozen times and after a while, everything starts to blur.”

“I know what you mean.”

Bethanne had listed her monthly expenses in one column and the total alimony and child support she received from Grant in another. On a separate page, she’d set out the anticipated income from the parties she’d booked, including the deposits already paid, and the costs for each.

Elise looked over all the lists and glanced up to see Bethanne watching her. “You need to charge more for your parties,” she said decisively. Before Bethanne could protest, she asked, “What’s your hourly wage?”

“I—I don’t know. I just add twenty percent to the cost of each party and that’s what I charge.”

Elise shook her head. “That’s not near enough. Don’t forget, you’re putting your creative genius behind each event.”

“Creative genius,” Bethanne repeated. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”

“It’s true.” Elise refused to diminish Bethanne’s talent. “You’re offering something unique. No party is like any other. Each one’s exclusively designed around the child’s interests. But if you feel you might be pricing yourself out of a job …”

“I do,” she murmured. “People can’t afford to pay me an outrageous fee on top of all their other expenses.”

“Then standardize the parties. Make up a list of your favorites, the ones you’ve already created, and offer those when people call to inquire. Establish a price for each one, and give them the option of a standard party or a customized one.”

Bethanne’s eyes lit up. “Of course … of course. I should’ve thought of that.” She smiled. “I can buy supplies in bulk and save money that way, too. Not to mention time.”

“You might also contract with a local bakery, for the cakes.”

They looked at each other and both spoke at the same moment. “Alix.”

“Alix,” Elise repeated, “would be perfect. Plus she’d be bringing business into the French Café and that’s a feather in her cap.”

“Fabulous.” Bethanne jumped up and gave Elise an impulsive hug. “Thank you, thank you, Elise. You’re the real genius here.”

Elise smiled with pleasure. Before she left, she reminded Bethanne to pay herself better. “Start with twenty dollars an hour,” she said. “And your hours should include your preparation time, plus cleanup and driving.”

Bethanne promised she would.

Later, on the bus ride home, Elise felt the satisfaction of having helped a friend. But it wasn’t a one-way street by any means; she’d learned from Bethanne too. The younger woman’s lack of bitterness and anger toward Grant impressed her. When Elise had commented on her calm acceptance, Bethanne said she considered it a gift that had come to her because of the divorce.

In Elise’s view, divorce didn’t mean anything except gut-wrenching emotional agony. But Bethanne had found nuggets of wisdom buried in the pain and suffering Grant’s betrayal had brought into her life.

When Elise entered the house, she thought no one was home. Then she heard the sound of the television. Since it was a bright, sunny afternoon, she couldn’t imagine why the entire family would be staring at the TV.

“What’s going on?” she asked, as she stood just inside the family room.

“Shh.” Luke beckoned her in. “Grandpa’s on TV,” he whispered.

“Mom.” Aurora glanced over her shoulder. “Sit with me. Dad’s playing poker on national TV.”

“No, thank you.” Elise whirled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance. Television or not, it didn’t matter. Gambling was gambling. There’d be no stopping Maverick now that he’d made it all the way to national television. He’d live on that high for months to come, thinking he was invincible—that he couldn’t lose.

“Mom?” A short time later, Aurora tapped gently on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Elise was determined to say something about allowing the children to … to admire their grandfather when it was obvious he had a problem.

“You looked upset when you got home.”

Elise had made no effort to hide her feelings, but the entire family had been so absorbed in watching Maverick that it surprised her anyone had noticed.

“Dad—”

“It would be best if we didn’t discuss your father.” She’d said this before and needed to say it again. Only a couple of hours earlier she’d marveled at Bethanne’s attitude toward Grant. Elise wanted to find that same kind of peace with Maverick, and hadn’t.

Aurora sat on the edge of Elise’s bed. “I think we should discuss Dad one last time.”

Elise’s nod was reluctant.

“Don’t you want to know if he won or lost?”

“Not really.” She reached for her knitting, needing something to occupy her hands.

“He wore his lucky socks.”

“There is no such thing as luck.” Aurora was more like her father than Elise had known. “They’re simply hand-knit socks,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

“Dad didn’t want you to know.” Her daughter spoke in a voice so low Elise had to strain to hear.

Frowning, she paused in her knitting and raised her head. “Know what?” she asked.

Aurora clasped her hands together and stared down at the carpet. “He’s dying.”

“What?”

“He has a rare form of leukemia. Don’t ask me to repeat the medical name, because I don’t know if I can even pronounce it. Those afternoons he was away? He was going in for blood transfusions. He only has about a year left. Two years possibly, but no one’s placing any bets.” She smiled sadly when she realized what she’d said.

“Dying?” It felt as if Elise’s heart had stopped beating.

“He came to Seattle because he wanted to get to know me and the family while he still could.” Tears shone in her eyes. “He didn’t gamble until that one day, when he entered the poker competition. He swore to me he hadn’t, and I believe him.”

“But why did he do it then?” Elise demanded. “And don’t tell me it was for my sake, because I refuse to believe it.”

Aurora shook her head as if she didn’t know what to say. “That’s what he told me.”

“Dying,” Elise repeated slowly. Everything became very clear to her in those few moments. Her mind scanned the last months. She should’ve understood that something was wrong; in his whole life, Maverick had never been content to sit and do nothing, yet he’d spent hours sitting in the car, waiting for her. She’d accepted that without question, as she had his sudden need to see his daughter.

“A year …”

Aurora nodded. “He loves you, Mom. He’s told me that a dozen times, and I know it’s true.”

Elise swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I love him, too.”

“I know.”

Without invitation Luke wandered into the bedroom, feet dragging. He fell into his mother’s lap, sighing dejectedly.

“What’s the matter?” Elise asked.

“You don’t know?” he exclaimed. “Grandpa lost.”

Elise stretched out her arms to her grandson, and Luke slid away from his mother and walked over to her. Holding the boy close, she shut her eyes and mused that her ex-husband was no luckier in cards than he was in life.

39
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

On a Friday evening in mid-September, when both Andrew and Annie were busy with school activities, Paul phoned and suggested a movie. Bethanne agreed, although he wanted to see a fast-paced action-adventure she normally wouldn’t have chosen. Whenever there were violent scenes Bethanne had to close her eyes. But every time the hero seemed to be facing certain death, he managed to escape. Still, the loud pounding music heightened her anxiety. Could things possibly end well?

During a brief lull in the action, she thought about Grant. She hadn’t told Paul—or anyone—that she’d run into him in the bank parking lot. The episode had an almost unreal quality to it.

Bethanne realized with a sense of something approaching sorrow that the affair—and the divorce—had cost him dearly. His children were, for all intents and purposes, estranged from him. Annie talked to her father now and then, but her attitude was more insolent than it should have been. Andrew was still refusing to have much to do with him, despite a couple of attempts by his father to patch up the relationship. Bethanne hoped that in time Andrew would find it in his heart to forgive Grant.

Bethanne experienced a familiar sadness over the loss of her marriage. Grant had changed, but she didn’t know when those changes had taken place, hadn’t even recognized what was happening. The man he was now wasn’t the man she’d married or the husband who’d stayed with her in the labor room and walked the floors when the children were sick. Perhaps she’d contributed to whatever went wrong. That wasn’t something she’d been willing to acknowledge before. Caught up in her own small world, involved with their children, perhaps Bethanne hadn’t paid enough attention to her marriage. Eventually she and Grant had become strangers to each other.

Glancing over at Paul, she discovered he was studying her instead of watching the screen. “You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, but could tell he didn’t believe her. They went for coffee following the movie—which did end happily. At least the hero had survived.

They sat across from each other in a booth at Denny’s, and the waitress smiled admiringly at Paul as she brought their coffee. There was a lot to admire, to find attractive about him. The waitress’s smile clarified what Bethanne had been feeling lately.

“You seem to be deep in thought,” he said.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About what?” Paul asked absently as he reached for a sugar packet. He looked up as he stirred it into his coffee.

She shrugged and experienced a brief surge of sadness. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

“You mean besides you?”

“Yes,” she said. “No. I mean, we’re not dating. We’re seeing each other as friends.”

“Why the frown? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“We’ve got a problem, Paul.” She decided to be direct. “We’ve come to rely on each other. I consider you safe and I’m fairly sure you feel the same way about me.”

He seemed about to argue with her, but had the good sense to wait.

“If we don’t do something soon, there’s a danger of us becoming so emotionally dependent, we’ll pass up other opportunities, with other people.” Although she made it sound like a possibility, Bethanne feared it was already a reality, especially for him. “I don’t want that to happen.”

“I don’t, either,” he agreed, but with reluctance.

“It’s time we went out into the dating world without training wheels.” Bethanne tried to make a joke of it. She wished she’d thought this through more carefully.

The waitress refilled their coffee and Paul reached for his, sipping it pensively. “Is there someone you want to get involved with?”

“No, but this isn’t about me.”

“Then what is it about? I don’t understand, Bethanne. I hoped—I hoped we could become more than friends, damn it,” he said, sounding frustrated. “I was afraid of this. You’re worried about the age difference, aren’t you?”

“No—okay, a little, but that’s not the point. Much as I care about you, I don’t think our relationship is emotionally healthy.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

She didn’t want to repeat everything she’d already said. “Let’s stop relying on each other for a while. I’m not doing you any favors. You should be seeing other women, finding someone who can be everything to you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he argued. “You’re the one person who understood how I felt when Tiffany left me. We’re the injured parties, and it’s only natural that we’d have a lot in common. Now you’re saying we should walk away from all that.”

“I’m not explaining myself well.”

“Yes, you are. I’m getting the message loud and clear. You want us to stop seeing each other but I don’t understand why, especially now. It’s … it’s like before.”

“I’m not Tiffany!”

“Then why do I have this knot in my gut? Why do I feel the same things I did when she told me she was in love with another man? This is just another rejection.”

“No, it’s not.” She’d done a terrible job of conveying her feelings. “I want us to stay friends. I also want you to get out there and date someone else.”

“Why?” he demanded. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. But I think we should stop seeing each other for a while.”

She smiled and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “You’re a wonderful man, Paul, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But it’s time for us to let go a little. To explore relationships with other people.”

“This isn’t a rejection?” he asked sardonically. “It sure as hell sounds like one.”

“Being more independent doesn’t mean we can’t talk or give each other emotional support. I want us to have a healthy relationship. I want us to be real friends.” Bethanne glanced around the Denny’s, afraid their conversation was entertainment for half the restaurant. She leaned toward him. “I want you to date a wonderful woman who’s crazy about you.”

“I thought that was you.”

Bethanne sighed. “You don’t know how easy it would be to fall in love with you. I’m halfway there already.”

Her words obviously pleased him, as some of the intensity left his face. “What’s stopping you?”

“My conscience,” she told him. “I’m not the right woman for you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said again, just as stubbornly.

“The thing is, there’s a corollary.”

He scowled, then slowly said, “In other words, I’m not the right man for you, either.”

She nodded. “I should’ve said something earlier, but I didn’t have the courage to let you go. Your friendship’s been really important to me.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I hope you’ll find a woman you’ll have children with. You’ll make a terrific father.” Both Andrew and Annie, who’d met him a number of times, thought the world of him.

“Fine, but I still plan to see you. And call you.” He would, too, especially at first, but when he opened his eyes to other relationships those calls would probably become farther apart. If that happened, it would be hard.

“You were absolutely wonderful for my self-esteem,” she told him, feeling almost tearful. “After Grant left, I was convinced no man would ever find me attractive again.”

“I did,” he said, then added softly, sweetly. “I do.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Will you see other men?” he asked. “Because I’m not going out into the great unknown all by myself.”

Bethanne managed a smile.

“I imagine that, given time, I will,” she said. “But I don’t think I’m ready just yet.” She’d take it slow, get on her feet financially, build her business. That was her first priority, aside from taking care of her children. One thing she’d learned through all of this was that she didn’t need a man in her life. After twenty years as Grant’s wife, she was finding her own identity. That might be a cliché these days, but like all clichés it was based in truth.

Part of that new identity was seeing herself as a businesswoman. Two days earlier, she’d been contacted by a friend of a friend who wanted to know if Bethanne did catering. She didn’t, but she knew someone who did. That conversation gave her an idea. Bethanne was good at organizing parties and social events. So far, all she’d booked were children’s birthday parties, but she wanted to expand, do more, connect with other professionals. The possibilities were endless and would be beneficial for all concerned. She might even end up becoming a wedding consultant. What was a wedding except one big party?

“I’ll date someone else if you will too,” Paul agreed after a lengthy silence.

That was all the assurance Bethanne needed. “I think that would be wise for us both.”

Like a youngster with an assignment, Paul propped his elbows on the table and said, “Any suggestions where to start?”

Bethanne smothered a giggle. “What about your office?”

He shook his head. “Everyone there’s already married.”

“I’ll bet someone you know has offered to set you up with a blind date.”

Paul dismissed that idea with a shake of his head. “No, thanks.”

Bethanne didn’t blame him. “I saw one of those decorator pillows once that read I’ve had so many blind dates I need a Seeing Eye dog.”

They both laughed, but Paul quickly sobered. “I don’t think I’m going to find anyone who can make me laugh the way you do.”

“Well, try,” she challenged, rather than allowing the compliment to sway her.

“What about you?” he asked. “When you decide you’re ready, where are you planning to meet single men? Clubs?”

“Oh, hardly,” she said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. “I don’t have the shoes for it.” He laughed, as she’d wanted him to. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. Eventually I’ll meet someone, through a friend or my business or just by chance.”

“But you aren’t looking now?”

“No! Not yet.”

“Maybe you should.” His smile was infectious. He turned, craning his neck to take a good look around the restaurant.

“Paul! You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he teased. “What about that guy over there—the one with the baseball cap?”

“Paul, stop it,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “Stop it right this minute. Unless you want me to introduce you to a couple of women.” Turnabout was fair play, so she caught their waitress’s eye. The young woman picked up a coffeepot and brought it over to their table. Her badge said her name was Cindy.

“Hello, Cindy,” Bethanne said warmly. “This is Paul. He’s single and available.”

Cindy smiled shyly in Paul’s direction and added a quarter inch of coffee to their mugs.

“Would you be interested in dating a man like Paul?” Bethanne asked.

“Ah, sure.”

Cindy had proven Bethanne’s point. “What did I tell you?” she cried triumphantly.

“Cindy, what are you doing tomorrow after five?” Paul asked.

Disappointment flashed in her eyes. “Working, but I get off at nine.”

Soon Paul and Cindy were discussing where they’d go.

She left, smiling, and Paul leaned closer. “I want a contingency plan. I’ll do as you suggest, but if it doesn’t work out, I want you to know I’m coming back for you.”

“Paul,” she chastised, and then just gave in. “Oh, all right.”

“Good.” He grinned and lifted his mug in silent salute.

40
CHAPTER

“I do love a good yarn, fiction and fiber. The only thing that equals my joy in knitting is the pleasure of reading!”

—Priscilla A. Gibson-Roberts, author of Simple Socks, Plain & Fancy and Ethnic Socks & Stockings.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I visited Mom Sunday afternoon, and it was such a lovely autumn day that it seemed pointless to go back to an empty apartment. Sundays were the hardest for me. This particular Sunday, for some reason, felt lonelier than most. My love for Whiskers can take me only so far.

Mom looked better than she had in months, and seeing her smile cheered me considerably. Leaving her home of nearly fifty years must have been painful. I was grateful she’d accepted the upheaval in her life without an argument. After two weeks in a nursing home, the assisted living facility probably seemed like an extended vacation.

I think Mom understood, once she entered the hospital, that everything would change from that moment on. I could tell she was grateful to have less responsibility, although I don’t expect she’ll ever admit it. I know she missed her rose garden; I did, too.

We had lunch together in the dining room, and she introduced me to her new friends. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already met Ida and Francine last week and the week before that, too. Interestingly enough, Ida and Francine don’t appear to remember me, either.

Before leaving work on Friday evening, Margaret had invited me over for Sunday dinner but I’d declined. We see each other nearly every day and frankly, as much as I love my sister, I needed a break. I think she felt the same way since she readily accepted my explanation of “other plans.”

A number of subtle and not-so-subtle changes had taken place in the relationship between my sister and me. Margaret was knitting more, and I’d begun crocheting. It was almost as if we were both anxious to prove our willingness to see the other’s point of view.

With Sunday afternoon stretching before me, I drove to Green Lake. I’d missed walking the three-mile path around the lake with Brad and Cody and Chase. A dozen times or more, I’d stopped myself from driving there, but I decided not to stay away any longer. If Brad and Janice were on the path, I’d smile and greet them and simply keep going. Physical exercise is good for me and I refused to be deprived of an enjoyable walk just because there was a chance of an awkward encounter. I’d have to deal with it—and so would Brad.

It was a perfect day with the leaves just starting to turn and a light breeze coming off the water. I changed into my tennis shoes in the parking lot and stowed my purse in the trunk of my car. Carrying my car keys, I headed down the path.

I hadn’t gone more than a quarter of a mile when a golden retriever shot past me, dragging his leash. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough or alert enough to grab it. Somebody would be frantic about this runaway dog. For an instant I thought it was Chase, Cody’s dog, but it couldn’t be. Chase wasn’t that big. But within a few seconds, I heard Cody’s voice and I knew I was wrong.

“Chase! Chase! Get back here.”

I turned to look over my shoulder and saw that Cody was fast gaining on me. When he noticed me he halted abruptly, looked back, forward and then back again.

“Lydia,” he shouted and ran toward me, his arms open wide.

I caught him and hugged him close.

“I have to catch Chase,” he said, his eyes pleading with mine.

“Go,” I urged.

“Don’t leave, okay?” he pleaded, half running.

“I won’t,” I promised, but I wasn’t convinced, despite my earlier determination, that I was ready to see Brad and Janice together.

If I did come face to face with Janice, she’d probably gloat. It hadn’t taken me long to discover that she was completely self-absorbed and had little interest in being a mother. I suspected that if I did find her with Brad, she’d be delighted to let me know she could have her husband and son back any time she wanted. She’d certainly proved that to be true. One snap of her fingers, and Brad was there.

I hated myself for being so negative. I felt like returning to the parking lot and making my escape, but I didn’t want to break my promise to Cody.

Before I was ready to deal with it, I heard Brad shouting for his son. “Cody!” He didn’t sound too pleased to be chasing after him.

I glanced over my shoulder, surprised—and grateful—to see that he was alone. Janice was nowhere in sight. Intent on catching up with Cody, Brad jogged past me, eyes straight ahead, and had gone two or three feet before he looked back. Like Cody, he stopped, mentally debated what to do, then started toward me. But his arms weren’t open and waiting for a hug.

“Lydia.” My name was breathless as if he’d jogged a lengthy distance.

“I assume you’re looking for Cody and Chase.” Polite conversation was all I could manage.

“What are you—”

“Doing here?” I finished for him. “Walking,” I said, answering my own question.

He seemed dumbstruck.

“Cody’s about three minutes ahead of you, and Chase about half a minute ahead of Cody,” I said, pointing down the path. He didn’t need to waste time chatting with me when he had a son and a dog to catch.

Brad continued walking backward, facing me. The way he stared made me uncomfortable. I looked away, almost wishing Janice would hurry so we could get this whole awkward scene over with.

“Chase got away from him,” Brad stated, as if I hadn’t figured that out.

“He’s grown,” I murmured.

“Chase or Cody?”

“Both.” I was walking at a clipped pace; he’d begun to walk parallel to me along the narrow path.

He nodded. “Cody’s grown a full inch this summer. His jeans are all high waters. When I took him school-shopping, I—” He stopped abruptly.

Sure enough, Chase was loping toward me, with Cody behind him, holding tight to the retriever’s leash.

“Lydia,” the boy cried, almost too excited to speak. “I was afraid you’d leave.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I told him.

“I wish no one would ever do that again.” Cody ran up to me and wrapped both arms around my waist. Brad was now holding the leash; he had far more control over the dog. Chase was actually sitting quietly, tongue lolling.

“Where’s your mother?” I asked, not wanting to be caught unawares. If Janice walked up now, there might be some explaining to do.

Cody shrugged. “You know Mom.”

I didn’t, not really.

“She’s out of our lives again.” Brad filled in the blanks for me.

“When did this happen?” He hadn’t mentioned it earlier, and that hurt. If he’d cared even a little for me, the fact that Janice had changed her mind was worth a mention, even casually.

“Not long ago. I planned on letting you know.”

“But you didn’t.” I kept my tone as cool and even as possible.

“Dad felt bad,” Cody said. “And I did, too.”

Bad that Janice had left? Or—

“I suppose you’d like to know what happened,” Brad said, his voice defiant.

“No—you don’t have to—”

“Let’s talk,” he suggested.

“Perhaps later,” I said, my head spinning. “I need to think about this….”

“We can walk with you,” Cody inserted, eager to be with me. “Did you come here every week? We didn’t,” he said. “Mom thinks the wind and sun aren’t good for her skin, and she didn’t think Dad and I should come without her.”

“No, I stayed away, too.” This wasn’t the first time Cody had alluded to his mother. “Maybe you should tell me what happened,” I said, looking at Brad.

“Cody,” Brad said to his son, handing over the leash. “Go on ahead with Chase. Make him heel, okay?”

The boy showed his disappointment. “I want to talk to Lydia, too, Dad. I missed her.”

“You’ll get your chance, I promise.”

Cody looked at me, and I nodded in agreement. He gave a boyish grin and took off, walking sedately. “Heel, Chase. Heel!”

We both watched them for a minute and I smiled at Cody’s earnest effort to restrain the dog.

“It didn’t work out,” Brad said flatly. “Janice is gone.”

That was a pretty minimal explanation. “Could you give me a few details?”

Brad pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “You were right. Janice didn’t want me back, nor was she particularly interested in being a mother to Cody. She just didn’t want you and me together.”

I nodded.

“Cody once told her he wanted you to be his mom, and Janice got all bent out of shape. She went into panic mode and decided she couldn’t let that happen.”

“I see.”

“I stopped loving Janice a long time ago.”

I didn’t feel qualified to comment.

“I had to try to make a go of the reconciliation for Cody’s sake. A child deserves a mother and a father.”

“I love Cody, too,” I cried, “and I understood why you did what you did. But you completely discounted my feelings.”

“Be angry with me if you want,” Brad concluded, quickening his pace. “The thing is, I’m sick to death of women and their demands. I loved Janice and she pulled every string she could to manipulate me, using my son.”

“And that’s my fault?” I was a second away from reminding him that he’d been the one to shove me aside. As I’d told him, I knew why he’d done it and I loved the way he loved his son, but I had a hard time getting past the pain it had caused me.

“Now you want your pound of flesh.”

“I beg your pardon?” I certainly recognized the allusion but didn’t understand how it applied to me.

“You heard me,” he said. “What you want is for me to come crawling back to you because Janice decided she needed her freedom, after all.”

I swallowed down my pent-up anger.

“I notice it didn’t take you long to find someone else.”

“What did you expect me to do?” I asked, even though it had been a lie. “Did you want me to sit at home and pine for you?”

He hesitated. “No, and you didn’t, which is just perfect.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “You know what? I’ve had it with women and relationships. It’s just too damned hard.”

“I was the one you dumped,” I pointed out. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Brad had hurt me badly. Now I was supposed to pretend nothing had happened? None of my concerns appeared to interest Brad.

He shook his head. “It’s over, Lydia. With Janice, with you, and with every other female on the planet. I don’t understand women. I never have and I doubt I ever will. Living the rest of my life alone would be easier than dealing with an irrational female.”

“I’m not irrational!”

“Whatever you say. But I’m not crawling back to you.”

“Well, I’m not chasing after you, either.” I wanted to make that clear right then and there.

He smiled sardonically. “I know, and frankly that suits me just fine.”

41
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

According to Grams, Courtney wouldn’t be able to ride her bicycle much longer. Two or three weeks at the most. The autumn rains would start in mid-October, and it wouldn’t be safe to ride on slick roads. Soon it would be dark by midafternoon.

Courtney would miss riding as part of her exercise and weight-maintenance program. It helped her vent her frustrations and stay out of the kitchen. She’d managed to maintain her twenty-five-pound weight loss, which was no small feat. Making better food choices had become easier, but her gaze often lingered on sweets and on the candy machine. That stuff was pure poison for her.

The best development since school started was that she’d made a few friends, including Mike, her chauffeur. That was what he called himself, and with great flair. He was shy but she’d discovered that he had a subtle sense of humor that seemed to come out of nowhere. Every now and then, always unexpectedly, he’d crack a joke that was hilarious. Until recently, she’d hoped Mike would ask her to the Homecoming Dance, but it was plain he’d set his sights on someone else.

She was only now becoming acquainted with the students in her classes. Most days, she hung around with Monica and Jocelyn, girls from her trigonometry class. Jocelyn and Mike liked each other and were perfect together, so Courtney played the role of matchmaker.

Annie was her closest friend. They talked on the phone often and saw each other at school, but they didn’t have any classes together. Courtney liked Andrew, too. A lot.

Taking a sharp corner on her bike, Courtney rolled onto her grandmother’s street and coasted to a stop. She climbed off, wheeling the ten-speed around to the garage. Helmet looped over her arm, she headed toward the kitchen door.

“Is that you, Courtney?” Grams called from the living room.

“It’s me,” she shouted back as she stopped at the sink to get a drink of water.

“You’ve got company, dear.”

Courtney set the glass down and tried to remember whether she’d noticed any cars parked out front. She couldn’t imagine who’d be visiting.

When she walked into the living room and saw Andrew sitting on the sofa, she nearly dropped her helmet. “Hi,” she said, hardly able to find her voice.

“Hi,” he said, grinning back at her.

“Look, dear, he’s wearing the socks you knit him.” Grams seemed utterly delighted by this. “Well, I’ll leave you young people to discuss whatever you want to talk about.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pulanski.”

Vera hesitated on her way to the kitchen. “I have some oatmeal cookies in the freezer I can defrost if you’re interested, Andrew.”

He shared a look with Courtney. “Thanks, anyway, Mrs. Pulanski. Maybe another time.”

“You don’t need anything, do you?” Grams turned to Courtney.

“Nothing, thanks,” she said.

Her grandmother nodded and, good as her word, she left the room.

“What are you doing here?” Courtney asked. No need to beat around the bush. She was hot and sweaty, and if he’d let her know he intended to come over, she would’ve stayed home instead of riding her bike.

“I came to talk to you.”

“When did you get here?”

He checked his watch. “About ten minutes ago. I had fun chatting with your grandmother. You were a cute baby.”

Courtney rolled her eyes. “She showed you baby pictures of me?”

“Naked ones.”

“No!” Courtney would never forgive that.

Andrew chuckled. “Just kidding.”

“It isn’t funny.” Maintaining a suitable distance, she sat down on the ottoman and hoped she hadn’t perspired too much.

Andrew released a deep sigh and then sent a quick look in her direction. “Did you hear?”

She thought about recent gossip that had circulated around the school. Unfortunately, she didn’t hear many rumors, and even when she did, she rarely knew the people involved.

“Hear what?” she asked.

“Melanie and I aren’t going out anymore. We haven’t in quite a while, but it got a little complicated over the summer and—well, let’s just say it’s over.”

Andrew seemed to be waiting for a comment from her. Courtney wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” was the best she could come up with.

“You are?”

Not really, but … “Breaking up is hard.”

“Not on my end. Melanie and I don’t have a lot in common.”

“What does this mean for Homecoming?”

Andrew shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. If I’m crowned king, I’ll have my date and if Melanie’s named queen, she’ll have hers. No big deal either way.”

Being new at the school, Courtney wasn’t sure how this worked.

“Are you going to the Homecoming dance?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He seemed surprised. “I thought Mike asked you.”

Courtney stretched the truth just a little. “I think he’s building up his courage, but he hasn’t yet.” She immediately felt bad for overstating the likelihood of his asking her, but she didn’t want Andrew to think she was entirely without prospects—which at this point, she was—or that she was angling for an invitation from him.

“It’s getting down to the wire, don’t you think?”

The dance was a week away, and almost everyone already had a date. Courtney was convinced Mike would ask Jocelyn. Monica agreed and suggested that rather than be left out, the two of them attend the dance together, dates or not. A lot of girls did that, and guys, too.

“Why are you asking?” she asked curiously. “In fact, why are you here?”

“Can’t a friend come by without getting the third degree?”

Suddenly Courtney felt a knot in her stomach. “Your mother put you up to this, didn’t she?” She got to her feet and started pacing. No wonder he was so vague! Courtney remembered that it was Bethanne who’d suggested Andrew find her a ride to and from school. She’d also coerced him into taking her to the Mariners’ game that first time.

“My mother had nothing to do with this.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Don’t go all psycho on me,” he muttered. He vaulted to his feet, raking his fingers through his hair. “Listen, there’s probably a better way to ask you to the Homecoming dance, but—”

Courtney’s head reared back. “You’re asking me to the dance?” She hadn’t dared to even hope for this. Was he serious? He wasn’t teasing her, was he? That would be too cruel.

He nodded. “But listen, there might be a bit of a problem with Melanie.”

“What do you mean?”

His shoulders rose in a sigh. “She’s the jealous type.”

“So the breakup wasn’t mutual?”

He shook his head sadly. “No. Not exactly. She’s pretty upset and, well—I felt I should warn you.”

Courtney frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

Andrew smiled apologetically. “I was afraid if I did, you might refuse to go to the dance with me.” He studied her, an expectant look on his face.

This wasn’t a joke. He was serious. Andrew wanted to take her to Homecoming. “Oh, Andrew,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “I’d be honored to be your date.” She didn’t have a thing to wear—oh, if she’d ever needed her sister, it was now.

Andrew brightened. “Annie said you would.”

“She put you up to this?”

“No way, but she did give me some advice.” Andrew grinned, raising one foot. “She suggested I wear the socks. Did it work?”

Courtney laughed. “Tell her it did,” she said, smothering a laugh.

42
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne was in the midst of party preparations for an eight-year-old boy. Todd was a fan of old-fashioned Western movies and TV shows, the cowboy and Indian shoot’em up kind. Bethanne had developed a party for him revolving around his favorite hero, the Lone Ranger. The invitations were out, and everyone was asked to come dressed as a cowboy. Bethanne planned to bring her guitar and she’d made arrangements to have a few bales of hay delivered. The parents had agreed to a campfire in their large backyard, and after various games, the boys would eat sitting around the fire and then she’d lead a singalong. In order to get in the mood, she’d tie a red bandanna around her neck and wear her cowgirl boots. She’d even bought a tin sheriff’s badge to pin to her plaid shirt.

Humming to Reba McEntire, she stirred the pork and beans warming on the stove. They were canned, but she’d added liquid smoke to give them the flavor of having been cooked on a campfire.

The games were more involved, since she wanted to stick to the western theme, and she planned to talk over her ideas with Andrew when he got home from school. Everything else was settled, including the menu.

Bethanne liked Elise’s idea of making a schedule of standard party ideas, so she wouldn’t need to start from scratch with every child. Who would’ve believed her creativity would get her this far? Her one drawback was the lack of start-up cash. It was hard to balance all her expenses and still make the house payments, but she was learning the importance of following a budget. Money was tight, but both her son and daughter understood that this was important. They all had to sacrifice if the business was going to survive.

The telephone rang, and Bethanne reached for it. Tucking the portable phone against her shoulder, she continued stirring. Pork and beans was the least expensive grocery item on her list, but she didn’t want to risk scorching them.

“This is Bethanne,” she said. When she could afford it, she intended to get a separate line for the party business.

“Ms. Hamlin, this is Gary Schroeder from Puget Sound Security.”

“Yes?”

“We talked briefly a few weeks ago about a loan application you’d submitted,” he said. “I hope I haven’t caught you at an inconvenient moment.”

Bethanne tried to remember this particular loan officer, but drew a blank. She’d been ushered in and out of each financial institution in record time, so it was little wonder she didn’t recall meeting him.

“This is fine.” The timer on the oven told her the birthday cake was finished.

“Perhaps it would be better if you stopped by our loan department at your earliest convenience,” he suggested.

“Ah.” Bethanne rationed her gas usage and preferred not to take unnecessary trips. “If you could tell me what this is about, I might be able to manage that,” she said. With the phone still pressed against her shoulder, she opened the oven door, slid out the top rack and tested the cake by inserting a toothpick into the center.

“There’s a check waiting for you, Ms. Hamlin,” the loan officer replied warmly.

“A check? The bank reconsidered?”

“We can discuss that when you arrive.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said, her heart pounding hard. This was incredible! She couldn’t imagine what had convinced the bank to finally approve her loan. Whatever it was, she was ready to throw her arms around this man she couldn’t even remember meeting.

With the cake cooling on the counter and the beans in the fridge, Bethanne drove to the bank and parked in their nearby lot.

She found the desk with Gary Schroeder’s name and approached him, thrusting out her hand. “I’m Bethanne Hamlin,” she announced, then realized she still had her apron on. “Oops,” she said, untying it. “As you can see, I left in kind of a hurry.”

He gestured toward the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Bethanne sat, perched on the edge of the chair.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” he said.

“No problem. I did understand you correctly, didn’t I?” She gazed at him earnestly. “You did approve my loan?”

His mouth thinned. “Actually, no.”

“No,” she gasped. “Then why did you drag me all the way down here? I’m a busy woman, Mr. Schroeder. I have a business to run and—” The disappointment was so overwhelming she couldn’t finish. Not only had she wasted her time, but the gauge on her gas tank was hovering at empty. Raising her hopes like this was unfair! She stood up, ready to walk away, but Mr. Schroeder stopped her.

“You don’t have an account with our bank,” he began. “And—”

“Trust me,” she broke in. “I have no intention of opening one now if this is the kind of trick you pull on your customers.”

“Ms. Hamlin,” he said, lifting one hand in a conciliatory gesture. “I apologize for upsetting you, but this is a rather … unusual situation. Please, sit down.”

Bethanne reclaimed her chair and tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“Early this morning, I received a call from a man who asked if you’d applied for a business loan with our institution. I can assure you it isn’t our policy to give out such information.”

“I should hope not.”

“The man, who requested not to be identified, said he’d like five thousand dollars deposited into your account.”

“But—as you said—I don’t have an account here.”

“Which I explained. He then asked if it would be possible to get you the loan amount you’d requested.”

“I’m afraid I’m confused,” Bethanne said.

“I don’t blame you. I was confused myself.”

“So, what does this mean?”

“It means that this person, who again asked that his identity not be revealed, wants to give you the money.”

“Give me the money,” she repeated.

“That’s right.”

Bethanne leaned forward in her chair. “Let me see if I understand this. Someone I don’t know wants to hand over five thousand dollars cash—to me. What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch.”

She still wasn’t sure she could believe this. “You’re positive about that?”

He nodded. “With the proviso that if the opportunity arises, you will do the same for someone else.”

“I see—well, I think I do. Sort of.”

“In other words,” he continued, opening a file. “I have a cashier’s check for you in the amount of five thousand dollars.”

Her jaw sagged open as the reality set in. She stared at Gary Schroeder, unable to comprehend who would do such a thing. Then it came to her. She knew of only one possible person who’d want to help her like this, and while she couldn’t be sure, she felt she had to ask.

“I have a friend…. The money doesn’t happen to come from a man by the name of Paul Ormond, does it?”

Mr. Schroeder shook his head. “As I explained earlier, your benefactor has requested anonymity.”

“But it isn’t Paul?”

He smiled kindly. “No.”

Bethanne tried to think who else her benefactor might be. It didn’t seem at all likely that Grant would do this. She realized he had regrets about the divorce, but if he’d found it in his heart to give her this money, he’d certainly want her to know what he’d done.

“Grant Hamlin?” she asked, just in case.

Again the loan officer shook his head. “I can’t tell you any more, but I will let you know this. The man who contacted us is not related to you in any way. I suggest you put your questions about his name out of your mind for now. Invest these funds wisely and validate this person’s faith in you.”

With the check clutched in her hand, Bethanne nodded and got slowly to her feet. “I will,” she promised. “I most certainly will.”

She couldn’t guess who had such faith in her ability, but she would take this gift and use it wisely, as the loan officer had advised. And, in keeping with her benefactor’s proviso, she’d pass on his generosity when she had the chance.

43
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

“Grandma, I don’t understand,” Courtney said, staring at the express mail envelope. It was addressed to her with no indication of the sender’s identity. As soon as she’d seen the contents, she’d forgotten that Grandma had become Grams months ago.

“What is it?” her grandmother asked, standing next to her in the foyer. The letter had been waiting for Courtney on the stair railing.

Courtney handed it to her grandmother as she slid her backpack from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

“It’s a cashier’s check,” Vera Pulanski murmured, sounding as shocked as Courtney.

“You didn’t do this?” Courtney asked, unable to think of anyone else who might be responsible.

“Me?” her grandmother exclaimed. “My goodness, child, if I had that kind of money, let me tell you I wouldn’t be spending it on a dress. Let’s see the card again.”

Courtney reached for the envelope and pulled out the typewritten note. It read: BUY A DRESS AS BEAUTIFUL AS YOU ARE AND HAVE A WONDERFUL TIME AT HOMECOMING. It was signed YOUR FAIRY GODFATHER.

Vera shook her head hopelessly. “I have no idea. It’s got to be someone who knows you … Could it be your dad?”

“No, it was sent locally. Dated yesterday—Wednesday. And why would Dad do something like this anonymously?”

Vera merely shrugged.

“I’ve got to tell Andrew,” Courtney sank down on the bottom step and picked up the phone. She was so excited she couldn’t dial the number fast enough. Grams, of course, had that old-fashioned rotary phone, black and cumbersome. Annie was the one who answered.

“Annie!” she cried. “You won’t believe what just happened!”

“What?”

“Someone sent me money for Homecoming. It’s a huge sum of money. Huge.”

“How huge?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

Annie released a low whistle. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not. Is Andrew home?” She wasn’t sure why it seemed so important to tell him about this. She supposed it was so he’d know she planned to do him proud. Since he’d asked her to the Homecoming dance, they’d talked several times a day. Just last night, they’d spent almost two hours on the phone.

Once word got out at school that Andrew Hamlin had asked her to be his date, she’d attracted a lot of attention. Some of the most popular kids were talking to her now—the very ones who hadn’t seen fit to even acknowledge her a couple of weeks ago. She wasn’t taken in by their interest, which struck her as false and opportunistic. While she was friendly and polite, these were not people she wanted as friends.

“Sorry,” Annie said, sounding as disappointed as Courtney. “Andrew isn’t back from football practice, but I’ll tell him to phone you the minute he walks in the door.”

Courtney should’ve realized Andrew would still be at school. “I’m so excited.” She had a dress, but it was a hand-me-down from her sister, who’d mailed it as soon as Courtney told her about the date. Rather frilly, it was a pretty pale-blue, much better suited to Julianna than her.

“It’s so cool that you’re dating my brother.”

“We aren’t dating,” Courtney reminded her friend. “We haven’t even gone out on a single date, and there’s nothing to say we will after tomorrow night.”

“You will,” Annie insisted. “Andrew and I talk, you know.”

Courtney bit her tongue to keep from questioning her about anything Andrew might’ve said. She knew that wouldn’t be right, despite her curiosity. Maybe she’d have a clearer sense of her future with Andrew after the dance.

Annie would be there, too, with a good friend of Andrew’s from the football team. Everything had worked out so well. Courtney could hardly believe it. Monica had been asked by a friend of Mike’s, and all four couples intended to go out after the dance.

“As your grandmother would say,” Annie continued, “Andrew’s smitten.”

Smitten. What a perfectly lovely word. “Oh, Annie, I think he’s just … wonderful.” No adjective satisfactorily described her feelings about Andrew Hamlin. Being with him made leaving Chicago for her senior year almost worthwhile.

“Who’d send you that kind of money?” Annie wondered.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Courtney was beyond conjecture.

“Your dad?” Annie suggested. “Or your brother?”

Courtney automatically shook her head. “No, neither of them,” she said.

“Then who?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the most fabulous gift I’ve ever received.” The doorbell chimed just then. “There’s someone at the door. Grams is in the kitchen, so I’d better get it.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Andrew you called.”

“Thanks.” She could hardly wait to talk to him.

Hurrying to the door, Courtney opened it and gasped out loud when she saw her sister, suitcase in hand. “Julianna!”

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” her sister asked. “Courtney, my goodness, look at you! You’re gorgeous. Who would’ve thought those pounds would make such a difference.”

Tears of joy sprang to Courtney’s eyes as she threw open the screen door. “What are you doing here?” she asked, hugging her tightly.

In seconds they were both laughing and weeping simultaneously. The commotion was enough to bring their grandmother out from the kitchen. Soon her squeals of delight mingled with theirs.

“My, oh my, this is lovely,” Grams said, pulling Julianna into the living room. “But—how did you get here?”

“By plane. The most amazing thing happened. I got an express letter that said my baby sister’s been asked to Homecoming by the star football player. Which I knew, of course. The letter suggested Courtney might need a little help getting ready for the big dance.”

Her grandmother raised both hands. “I’m telling you right now, I had nothing to do with this.”

“There was an airline ticket in the envelope,” Julianna explained. “Also included was a long list of instructions. The first was that a car service would arrange to drive me to O’Hare, and that another car would be waiting to pick me up at Sea-Tac. It would then drive me to Grams’s house, but I was warned I couldn’t say anything to either of you in advance.”

“Well, I, for one, am surprised,” Courtney whispered, her cheeks still wet with tears.

“I was given a cashier’s check for my expenses, but it’s far more money than I’ll need. I’m thinking we should make an appointment for your hair and your nails as soon as we can.”

“My hair and nails, too?” Courtney whispered, so overwhelmed she could barely speak.

Grams looked utterly perplexed. “I wish I’d thought of it, but even if I had, I never would’ve been able to afford all this.”

“Our carriage awaits,” her sister announced grandly. “Well, the car. But the driver’s in livery.” She giggled. “I mean, a uniform—but isn’t this just like Cinderella?”

“Why’s the car waiting?” Courtney felt as if she had, indeed, been dropped into the middle of her favorite fairy tale. At the good part, though, when the godmother materializes and waves her wand around. Or godfather, she corrected, and it was a check, not a wand.

“The car’s going to take us all to dinner,” Julianna said. “We have reservations at Morton’s on 4th Avenue. From there, the driver will drop Courtney and me at the mall and take you home, Grams. We’re supposed to arrange a time and place for him to meet us when we’re finished.”

“I can’t believe this,” Courtney shrieked, giving way to her excitement. “I just can’t believe this.”

“I must admit this is some Fairy Godfather you’ve got,” Julianna teased.

“Let me grab my sweater,” Vera said. “I didn’t feel like cooking tonight, anyway.”

Courtney led her sister upstairs so they could leave her suitcase in one of the spare rooms. “How long can you stay?” she asked.

“Just until Saturday afternoon. I have to get back, and whoever arranged this seemed to know that, too.”

“Have you talked to Jason?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t him,” she said with a laugh. “He doesn’t have a dime to his name. In fact, he’s always trying to borrow from me—as if I had anything extra.”

The phone rang just as they were leaving the house. Courtney debated whether she should answer it, and then decided it might be Andrew. With her grandmother’s ancient phone, Caller ID wasn’t an option, even if she’d been willing to spring for it. So phone calls were always a mystery.

“Hello,” she answered, hoping it was Andrew.

“You called?”

“I did. Oh, Andrew, the most wonderful thing’s happened! But I don’t have time to explain everything right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she laughed, giddy with joy, “my sister’s here and there’s a car waiting to take me shopping for a Homecoming dress, and Andrew—oh, Annie can tell you about it.”

“This must be the day for good news.”

“What do you mean?” Everyone was waiting on the porch, but she had to know.

“It won’t be official until tomorrow, but I’ve been elected Homecoming King.”

“Oh, Andrew! Congratulations.”

“Nothing in this world would make me prouder than to have you with me on Friday night.”

Running light-heartedly out to the car, Courtney couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t know what she’d done that could have merited such generosity, but she’d be forever grateful to whoever had decided to become her Fairy Godfather.

She didn’t think she’d ever been happier in her life.

44
CHAPTER

“When in doubt, grab a ball of yarn and Get Creative!”

—Sasha Kagan, Sasha Kagan Knitwear.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

It was more than a week since I’d seen Brad. My anger had cooled and I wished I could take back some of what I’d said. I hoped he felt the same way. Tuesday morning when I removed the Closed sign from my door, I took the opportunity to glance up and down the street. It was too early to see Brad’s UPS truck, but I was hopeful nonetheless. I hadn’t figured out what I’d say, but I knew I’d be far less emotional than last week at Green Lake.

It had been an incredible few days. Friday afternoon, Courtney came by to introduce me to her older sister. They had a fantastic story about a fairy godfather who’d stepped in to ensure that her date for Homecoming would be as perfect as it could possibly be. I couldn’t imagine who’d do anything like that. I think Courtney somehow expected me to know, but I didn’t.

On Saturday it was Bethanne who arrived with an equally fantastic story of a mysterious benefactor who’d given her the money she needed, no strings attached. A gift, not a loan. The only stipulation was that she help someone else if she was ever in a position to do so.

Exuberant, she dashed across the street with a business idea that involved Alix—a contract to provide birthday cakes and other desserts for the various events Bethanne arranged.

I was thrilled for both Bethanne and Courtney. If this fairy godfather had any extra fairy dust available, I could use some myself—not that I expected any magic in my life.

The bell chimed, and Margaret walked in promptly at ten. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Morning,” I responded. I thought of asking her about her good mood but hesitated, wondering if she’d volunteer the information herself. Often it’s still difficult to know how best to approach my sister.

“It looks like you had a good weekend,” I finally ventured, somewhat cautiously.

“We sure did.” She was practically skipping as she entered the store. I trailed behind her to the office.

“Did you do anything fun?” I asked. I was thinking maybe dinner out or a movie.

“Better than anything you can imagine!” She gave me a huge smile. Not a typical Margaret smile, either, which often seemed more of a grimace, but a wide, unstinting smile that changed her whole face.

“Oh?” I said, dying of curiosity.

She opened her purse and removed an envelope, which she handed me with a dramatic flourish.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

I’ll admit I was eager enough to tear it open. Inside was a card and a check. I noticed the amount and gasped—it was for the entire bank loan of ten thousand dollars. The card was a thank-you note written to me by my brother-in-law and signed by both Margaret and Matt.

“What … how—” I stammered, hardly able to form a question.

“Matt has a wonderful new job.”

My guess was that this new job had nothing to do with painting houses. “The money …”

“A signing bonus.”

“But …”

“We talked it over, Matt and I, when you first gave us the money. Matt was so touched that you’d do this for us. I can’t even begin to tell you what a difference it made to be able to keep the house. We—we’ve never gotten this far behind, and it was a blow to both of us. We’re terribly grateful for what you did, but we always felt the money had to be a loan.”

“But …” I couldn’t seem to get out more than one word at a time—and it takes a lot to leave me speechless.

“The truly astounding part is that Matt hadn’t even applied with this particular engineering firm. Their Human Resources department contacted him on Thursday and asked him to submit an application immediately, which he did. They didn’t have it longer than a day before he heard back and the negotiations began.”

“That’s marvelous!”

“It is—more than you know. I’ve hardly ever seen Matt so excited. He was like a little kid when he got the news. He started work yesterday. I wanted to say something on Friday, but we decided to wait until everything was in place—and we could give you this.” She pointed to the check.

“Margaret,” I said, hugging my sister. “Are you sure? I mean, there must be a hundred things you need. Keep the money, repay me when you can.”

“No,” she returned sternly. “This is yours, and neither Matt nor I will hear of anything else.”

“Wow,” I whispered, “the fairy dust is flying all over the place.” I don’t think my sister realized what a turning point that loan was for me, in more ways than one. Perhaps for the first time since I became an adult, I’d truly stepped outside myself. I know that sounds odd, but it has to do with the rather insular life I’d lived for so many years. What I mean is, when I was a teenager and in my twenties, my whole life revolved around my sickness and consequently around me. Not until I opened the shop on Blossom Street did I begin to understand how self-absorbed I’d become.

This had been an especially difficult summer for me as I learned to consider needs and concerns other than my own. It was a financial stretch to help Margaret and Matt, but I badly wanted to give back to my sister and her family for all the sacrifices they’d made on my behalf.

Later, with Mom, I came to understand that our roles were now reversed. It was time for me to take care of her. The paperwork, finances and everything else involved in getting Mom settled in assisted living had been time-consuming and often frustrating. But my parents had always handled those details for me, during my bouts of cancer. I received the very best treatment available because my parents fought for me. Now it was my turn.

My third emotional lesson was perhaps the most painful. It came when Brad told me about Janice. I’d just about dissolved into a puddle of self-pity because the man I loved had broken off our relationship. Only later, when I looked past the pain I was suffering, did I understand that Brad had done this out of love for his son. Reconciling with Janice wasn’t what he wanted, but he loved Cody enough to put aside his own wants in an effort to give him the family he needed. I failed to be as noble. Granted, once I recognized his motives, I felt less hurt, but I wasn’t nearly as gracious or understanding as I could have been.

The bell above the door jangled and I had my first customer of the day. I half expected Margaret to rush out. She seemed occupied with order forms, so I placed the check on my desk and hurried into the shop.

Brad stood just inside and my heart seized at the sight of him. Margaret’s smile had nothing on mine. “Hello, handsome,” I said.

“Hello, beautiful.”

We stood there smiling at each other for the longest moment, until he held his arms out to me. I didn’t need a second invitation. My feet barely touched the ground as I ran into his embrace. Anyone who happened to be strolling past my shop window would’ve seen two people in love. Brad and I were entwined, arms around each other, kissing, kissing, kissing.

When we finally managed to break apart, it was with reluctance. “You’re so right,” I cried, running my hands over his face, needing to touch him. “I behaved like a jealous fool, and I lied, I lied. There’s no one else. Brad, forgive me. I’m sorry.”

“I am, too—for what I said last week. I could no more walk away from you than I could one of Alix’s chocolate éclairs.”

I laughed and poked my finger into his ribs. Then because it felt so good to be with him again, I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.

“So there isn’t another guy?” he murmured. “There never was?”

“No one. You’re the one and only love of my life.”

“Forever?” he asked.

I looked into his eyes and whispered, “That could be arranged.”

His shoulders relaxed. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s time, Lydia. Time for you and me. I came too close to losing you. I love you, Lydia. I’ve never stopped. Cody loves you. Chase loves you, I—”

I brought my lips to his, interrupting him. He didn’t need to say another word.

His hold around my waist tightened as he lifted me from the floor. “Does this mean you’ll marry me, Lydia Hoffman?”

“It does.” I wanted to qualify my response with a warning or two. The cancer could return. I wasn’t sure I could have children or that it was advisable. But I said none of this. Our marriage wasn’t about me—it was about Brad, Cody and me. Chase, too, for that matter. We were going to be a family.

“Lydia?” Margaret said, stepping out of the office, her voice tentative.

I smiled over at my sister. “How would you feel about being my maid of honor?” I asked her.

She turned to Brad, then to me. “You’re getting married?”

I nodded. “Are you up for a wedding?”

“You bet I am!” she cried.

I draped my arms around Brad and pressed my head to his shoulder.

I swear there was fairy dust floating all over that room.

45
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Maverick had, according to Aurora, returned from the poker tournament in the Caribbean, but he’d made no effort to contact Elise. She didn’t ask, but she thought Aurora had told her father that Elise knew about his cancer. Countless times in the few weeks before their last encounter, Maverick had invited her to come to his apartment, but she’d repeatedly refused.

In light of that conversation, he didn’t invite her again, and she didn’t blame him. She regretted that outburst now. When she could stand the silence no longer, Elise decided to go and see him.

The building was a new one, in a lovely area close to Aurora’s, as well as Seattle’s downtown area. She noticed that it was also close to a number of medical facilities.

The heaviness that had settled over her once she’d learned of Maverick’s leukemia grew more burdensome each day. She felt hurt that Maverick had kept this information from her and yet she understood why he’d been so reticent. Late at night, as they’d cuddled up together in her single bed, Elise had often sensed that he wanted to tell her something. A dozen times she’d felt it, but she’d suspected that he wanted to confess he’d been gambling again. She hadn’t been willing to hear that, so she’d pretended to be asleep. Their private nighttime moments were too precious to ruin.

The doorman was kind enough to show her where to press the button connected with her ex-husband’s telephone. Maverick answered on the second ring, sounding tired.

“It’s me. Can I come up?” Elise asked in a subdued voice.

“Of course.” A buzzer rang and the lobby door opened. Maverick’s condo was on the fifteenth floor. When she stepped out of the elevator, he stood in his doorway, waiting for her.

She nearly faltered when she saw his welcoming smile. All she’d done for weeks was harangue him with her bitterness. She felt such guilt, such an awareness of opportunities missed. Seeing him now, knowing he was dying, she burst into uncharacteristic tears. She couldn’t help it. Her shoulders quaked and she covered her mouth with both hands.

Her emotion had an immediate effect on him. Maverick wrapped his arms around her and brought her into the apartment. He closed the door with one foot, still hugging her.

“Elise, Elise,” he whispered, cradling her face between his large hands. “What’s wrong with you? My gutsy girl doesn’t weep.”

“I … feel … so … bad.” His sympathy, his soft crooning, only made her feel worse.

“About what?” His gaze searched hers.

“Everything—oh, Maverick, I’ve been so bitter and so spiteful toward you.”

“I gave you plenty of reasons.”

“I was never the right wife for you and—”

“Nor was I the right husband for you.”

“I love you,” she sobbed. At one time she’d tried to deny it, but she loved Maverick, heart and soul. When she’d learned about his visit, she hadn’t wanted to see him because she’d recognized the truth—and it had terrified her.

Gathering her close, Maverick kissed the top of her head. “I’ve always loved you. Always.”

She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “I know, but—”

“Why do you think I never remarried?”

She’d wondered and had never wanted to ask. His question implied that he’d had opportunities, and maybe other romances; she had no difficulty believing it. But none of that mattered. Not even the gambling mattered anymore.

“All those wasted years … all those empty, empty years,” she said brokenly. “Now … now it’s too late…. Aurora told me—she told me you’re … dying.” It was difficult to say the word.

A deep sigh expanded his chest. “I was afraid she would.”

“No, no, I needed to know.” But she’d made it impossible for Maverick to tell her himself.

“I’m so sorry.” Her sobbing increased. She couldn’t tolerate the fact that she was about to lose Maverick so soon after finding him again.

His hold on her tightened. “I’m not dead yet.”

If she hadn’t been immersed in grief she might have smiled at his wry tone.

She took a long, shuddering breath. “I know … but I regret so much. I’m not sure where to start.”

“We both have regrets, my darling.”

Elise clung to him. That he could refer to her as his “darling” after the way she’d treated him said a great deal about this man she loved. This forgiving, passionate and often reckless man. A man who saw the best in others, who laughed at himself—a man who loved her.

“I … do want to move in with you,” Elise announced. “If you’ll have me.”

She felt his smile before she saw it. “I’d rather you married me again,” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

He tilted her chin and gazed deeply into her eyes. “I’ll probably keep gambling as long as I’m able to.”

She agreed with a half nod. Gambling was an important part of his life. She loved Maverick; loving him meant accepting him for the man he was.

“I’m sorry you lost the poker tournament,” she whispered. “For your sake.”

“You saw me on television?”

She shook her head. “Aurora and the boys told me.”

“Second place wasn’t so bad.”

His spirits were unusually high. “You have a good attitude about it,” she murmured. But then, he’d always been an optimist.

“Let’s get married as soon as we can,” he said. “Next month? Maybe over Thanksgiving?”

When she nodded, he said, “We have a lot to do to get ready for the wedding. I want to buy you a diamond ring.”

“Maverick, no!”

He frowned. “Are we going to start our marriage with an argument?”

“No, but a plain gold band will do nicely.”

He shook his head. “Let me take care of that. I also want to hire Bethanne to arrange everything for us.”

“I don’t know if she’s equipped to manage that yet,” Elise said, although she was grateful he’d thought of her friend.

Elise offered no resistance when Maverick silenced her with a kiss. In his arms, she had no doubts or questions. If he wanted to hire Bethanne, then that was what they’d do. After all, their wedding was really just a party—wasn’t that what Bethanne had said about weddings? A celebration. She smiled at the image of a dinosaur-shaped wedding cake or Alice in Wonderland decorations.

“Yes, let’s ask Bethanne,” she agreed. “And I’ll have Aurora be my maid of honor,” Elise said, arms around his middle and smiling up at him.

“I want you to invite your knitting group.”

“What about my reading club?” she asked.

“As many of your friends as you desire.”

She frowned. All this expense was an extravagance. “It isn’t necessary,” she insisted one last time. “I’d be happy just to—”

“It is for me,” Maverick said.

With that she acquiesced. However, she did feel it was only fair to remind him that she came with encumbrances. “Maverick,” she began, “don’t forget I’m in the middle of that lawsuit and—”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It’s a legal and financial mess.”

“It’ll work itself out. Just promise me you won’t worry about it.” He studied her intently.

Elise walked farther into the apartment and collapsed onto the edge of a brown leather sofa. “How can I not worry? You have no idea how much money I’ve lost. I can’t just forget about it.”

“No, but you can’t worry yourself sick over it, either. What will be will be. Nothing you do now is going to change anything. It’s in the hands of the courts—isn’t that what you told me?”

She nodded.

“From now on, I’ll take care of your financial concerns.”

At her automatic protest, he said, “Elise, I want to help you. I’m a rich man.”

She blinked twice. Rich? Maverick?

“Don’t look so shocked.”

“You’re a gambler, Maverick. No one makes money gambling.”

He sighed deeply. “I wasted too much of my life seeking that pot of gold, I’ll admit that now. There were plenty of other occupations I could’ve been successful at—but nothing interested me in the same way.” He gave an amused little shrug. “I was born with card sense.”

Elise remembered that he’d made every single child-support payment on time. She’d often wondered how he’d been able to manage it. She’d been willing to acknowledge that he must’ve had moderate success—but rich?

“You lost that poker tournament in the Caribbean,” she murmured.

“True. But the money for the second-place prize was eight hundred thousand dollars.”

Elise gasped.

“No matter what you say, those socks you knit brought me luck.”

If she hadn’t already been sitting, Elise’s knees would’ve gone out from under her. “Eight hundred thousand dollars?” she repeated in a voice that resembled a squeak. “You’ve got to be kidding.” She had no idea there was that kind of money in gambling.

“Apparently you aren’t aware of the recent popularity of poker.”

Dumbfounded, she shook her head.

“I’ve placed the majority in a trust fund for Aurora, David and the boys. Plus, I did a bit of what my mother called planting seeds of faith.”

Her head snapped up and she looked at him with wide eyes. “It was you,” she whispered. “You’re the one who gave Bethanne the money she needed.”

“If you say so.” His voice was nonchalant but his lips were curved in the slightest of smiles.

“I do. It had to be you.” Everything fell into place. Maverick had waited for her during each knitting class and on the way home she’d given him an update on each of her friends.

“You flew Courtney’s sister out here for the Homecoming dance. How did you ever find her?”

A twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Pulanski isn’t a name you hear every day, now, is it?”

“And Margaret’s husband?”

“He got that job on his own merits,” Maverick insisted, but the smile was growing as he continued. “Taking advantage of an old connection. A word dropped in the right ear. Although the signing bonus is another story.”

Elise knew nothing about any of that. “You do this sort of thing often?”

“On occasion. I like to practice what people refer to as random acts of kindness.”

“Only these weren’t so random, were they?”

“Perhaps not, but I figure whatever I give to others comes back tenfold. Not necessarily to me but to people who need it. People Bethanne or Matt or Courtney meet, maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now. Kindness is something that should always be passed on.”

Elise regarded him with open admiration. “Have you always been this wonderful and I just never noticed? Or is it a new development?”

He chuckled. “You don’t expect me to answer that honestly, do you?”

She brought her palm to his face and let her love shine through her eyes. “Oh, Maverick, I love you. Rich or poor, I love you. We’re going to have a very good life together—for however long God gives us.”

“The way I feel right now,” he whispered, “that’ll be a very long time.”

Elise hoped he was right.

46
CHAPTER

COURTNEY PULANSKI

The Next Year

Courtney hurried from her last class to her dorm room, hoping there was a card in the mail from Andrew. They e-mailed at least once a day and sometimes more. In their last communication, he’d suggested she check her mailbox in the near future. That was a sure sign he’d dropped something off for her at the post office. He was attending Washington State University on a football scholarship and Courtney was a freshman at the University of Illinois at Chicago.

To Courtney’s amazement, her senior year had proved to be the best part of her high-school experience. She’d arrived in Seattle overweight, lonely and miserable, certain she was destined to have a wretched year.

Over the next thirteen months, Courtney had developed a close relationship with her grandmother. She’d learned a lot during the time her father had spent in South America. Grams had shared bits and pieces of family history that no one else knew. At first Courtney had thought Grams’s house was full of old things, and it was, but some of those things were family treasures. They weren’t antiques that would sell for big cash on eBay or interest the appraisers on The Antiques Road Show. But each object had the power of family history behind it. Every now and then, Grams would dig out something to show her, like the cute outfit she’d knit for her father as a baby or his high-school graduation announcement.

Grams had introduced Courtney to her friends, and it was like having ten grandmothers. To this day, whenever she was in a women’s change room, she never took the middle shower, in honor of Leta. She still swam two days a week.

Perhaps the most significant change her grandmother had brought to Courtney’s life was signing her up for that knitting class. Courtney had been feeling abandoned and alone, and within weeks, she’d made three friends. Three good friends. The other members of the class were older, but the bonds they’d built were strong even now, more than a year later. She had an extended family of knitting friends, too, with Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, as well as Margaret. They’d all been supportive and encouraging at the time she’d needed it most.

Courtney walked across the lawn and hurried up the steps to the dorm. She stopped long enough to collect her mail and quickly sorted through the envelopes. Sure enough, there was a card with Andrew’s distinctive handwriting and the WSU return address. She was proud of him, proud he’d been awarded a major scholarship. She didn’t really expect their long-distance romance to last. They were both young, as her grandmother often reminded her—too young to be serious. Grams was right about that. Andrew, however, was her connection to that wonderful year. First and foremost, they were friends, and she wanted to maintain that closeness. Forever, she hoped, even if their romantic interest waned. Andrew said he felt the same way.

Inside her room, Courtney tore open the envelope and discovered a humorous card with a cat sleeping in the sun on a bed of roses. The cat resembled Lydia’s Whiskers, who often slept in the shop window. Opening it, she read: Wake up and smell the roses. Below that, he’d scribbled a few lines of encouragement about an upcoming test.

This was one of the reasons she liked Andrew so much. He was so thoughtful, and unlike other star athletes she knew, he wasn’t stuck on himself. He regularly did little things to let her know he was thinking of her.

Courtney stayed in touch with Annie, too. It was just Annie and her mom at home this year, and the changes in the family dynamic had required an adjustment, according to Annie. Courtney missed her a lot. When they’d first met, Annie had been angry and bitter. The brunt of that anger was directed toward the woman whose name Annie refused to mention—her father’s second wife. Annie had blamed this woman for everything. Oh, she’d been plenty pissed at her dad, too, but they seemed to be working that out. At least she saw him every week for lunch or dinner, which Courtney was glad to hear. Annie’s father had made a big mistake, as far as Annie was concerned, and now he had to live with it. Annie claimed he and “that woman” deserved each other—but she still loved her dad.

Sitting on her bed, Courtney read Andrew’s note a second time, then logged on to her computer to leave him a message. She discovered an e-mail from her father waiting for her. He’d rented out the house in Chicago for a second year, and Courtney felt fine about that. She’d kept some things of her mother’s but she no longer thought of the place as home. He was still in Brazil, working on another bridge project, and seemed to be enjoying the adventure. The money didn’t hurt either. She answered him, and then e-mailed Lydia about the progress her friends had made knitting.

Once the girls on her floor discovered that Courtney could knit, they’d wanted her to teach them. Soon every girl in the dorm had a pair of knitting needles in her hands. Actually, two circular needles, since the most popular pattern so far had been socks. Courtney had knit a dozen pairs in the last year. Her father loved his and wore them constantly. Even her older brother bragged about his socks, and Andrew had three or four pairs now. Annie was knitting, too; Bethanne had taught her.

A knock sounded at her door. “Court, do you have a minute?” Heather, one of the other girls on her floor, peeked inside.

“Sure,” she said and stood up from her computer, leaving the e-mail to Lydia unfinished.

Heather stepped into the room with a ball of fingering weight yarn tucked under her arm and her knitting in her hands. “I hate to bother you,” she said guiltily.

“It’s no bother.” They sat on the edge of the bed while Courtney examined the other girl’s project.

“I think I dropped a stitch,” Heather murmured.

Courtney could see that she had. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a crochet hook in my desk. They work wonders.” After retrieving the hook, she sat down with the half-completed sock.

“I can’t look,” Heather said, turning her head to stare in the opposite direction.

Courtney smiled. “I did the same thing to Lydia the first time I dropped a stitch. She told me we all lose a stitch now and then. Just like life, don’t you think?”

“It is,” Heather agreed. “We get so busy that it’s easy to let some things slide. We can either pick them up again, or let them stay lost…. I never thought about knitting like that, though.”

“I didn’t either,” Courtney confessed, “until I took Lydia’s knitting class.”

“You’re right.”

Courtney caught the loose stitch and carefully brought it up through the rows until she could slip it back on the thin needle. When she’d finished, she returned the sock to Heather.

“You learned a lot from those other knitters in Seattle, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Courtney said. More than she could possibly explain to anyone who hadn’t taken part in those weekly sessions.

Elise was close in age to her grandmother—certainly older than anyone else she called a friend—yet that was how Courtney viewed her. They all kept in touch, and Elise phoned her every few weeks. Bethanne did, too. Courtney almost wished her father had stayed in Seattle longer so she could’ve introduced the two of them. She knew, from Lydia and Elise, that Bethanne was seeing men from time to time; it wasn’t something Annie talked about. Bethanne’s booming party business kept her busy these days, which Annie did like to mention.

All her Blossom Street friends—Bethanne, Lydia, Elise and the others—had helped Courtney deal with the grief of losing her mother. Five years had now passed since her mother’s death, and while the pain wasn’t as raw as it had once been, Courtney had never completely filled the emptiness in her life. But she’d seen how Bethanne’s love for Andrew and Annie had carried her through the divorce. Maybe, years from now, when she had children of her own, she’d find that same kind of strength and completeness. Bethanne’s love for her kids, Elise’s for Aurora, Lydia’s for Cody—these mother-child bonds reminded her of what she, too, had once had. That feeling was one of gratitude as well as sadness. Courtney recognized anew how deep her mother’s love had been.

Lydia and Margaret reminded Courtney of her relationship with her own sister. She was close to Julianna in much the same way Lydia and Margaret were close. They supported each other and they bickered. Courtney found it entirely natural. She’d once heard Lydia explain that it hadn’t always been like that, but seeing how well they worked together now, this was difficult for Courtney to believe.

After a couple of months, when they’d all considered each other friends, Lydia had talked about her experience with cancer. Courtney would never have guessed that Lydia had gone through chemotherapy and radiation. When she’d said this, Lydia had been absolutely thrilled and claimed it was proof she had “stepped outside herself.” Courtney wasn’t sure what that meant but was happy about Lydia’s reaction.

“Thanks, Court,” Heather said, collecting her knitting and leaving the dorm room.

“Glad to help,” she said and sat back down at her computer.

She read over her e-mail to Lydia. “I realized again that living in Seattle was a blessing in more ways than I could count. A Good Yarn—” That was where she’d stopped when Heather came in. But she knew exactly what to say next.

47
CHAPTER

BETHANNE HAMLIN

“Mom, phone!” Annie shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Which line?” Bethanne called from the kitchen, her hands buried in hamburger.

“Business line. Do you want me to take it?”

“I’ll get it.” Bethanne nearly groaned. The party business was doing so well that she was booked months in advance. She washed her hands, then walked into the room that had once been Grant’s office—her office now—where she kept the schedule for the upcoming parties.

She answered the call, scheduled an appointment for a consultation and went back to the kitchen, where she was shaping small meatballs around green olives for a six-year-old’s Halloween birthday bash. Not long afterward, Annie drifted downstairs.

“You need any help with those?” she asked.

“Not now, but I will later.” Annie had been a valuable asset the previous summer and still was, even in her senior year of high school. Bethanne had hired her on a part-time, as-needed basis, which was good for both of them. She had several other assistants, but working with Annie kept them close and connected. “That’s why I pay you the big bucks, you know.”

“Very funny, Mom.”

The phone rang again and Bethanne looked from her hands to her daughter. “Do you want to get that for me?”

“Hey, I have to earn those high wages you’re supposedly paying me, don’t I?” Annie joked. She reached for the receiver and answered “Parties by Bethanne” in a professional tone.

Her daughter was almost an adult; every once in a while Bethanne realized that with a jolt of recognition—and pride. A year from now she’d be alone, with both her children in college. The thought no longer terrified her. When the time came she’d be able to afford it, which thrilled her. And she certainly wouldn’t be lonely or at loose ends…. In fact, she’d been giving some thought to expanding her business in untraditional ways. One plan involved Lydia—a knitting party, in which Bethanne would serve food and drinks, and Lydia would teach everyone how to knit. The idea was still in its infancy, as was another idea for a children’s storytelling party that Elise would help her with.

“It’s Paul,” Annie told her. “Do you want to phone him back later?”

Bethanne still saw Paul on occasion, but it had been a couple of months since they’d talked. “Tell him I’ll call him back. I’ve got an errand to run and I’ll be home after six.”

“Where are you going?”

“Lydia’s,” she answered, finishing up the meatballs and arranging them on a baking tray.

“Here.” Annie held the phone against Bethanne’s ear. “You tell him all that.”

Bethanne quickly agreed to meet Paul for coffee at the French Café across from A Good Yarn. “See you at six,” she said.

“What was that about?” Annie asked.

“I think Paul’s going to tell me it’s serious with Angela,” she said, and the news cheered her. His relationship with this new woman in his life sounded promising.

“How come you’re going to Lydia’s?” Annie asked next, eyeing Bethanne suspiciously.

“You’re certainly nosy,” she teased.

“Inquiring minds want to know.”

Bethanne laughed and shook her head. She should’ve realized that keeping anything from Annie was an exercise in futility. “If you must know, I need another ball of yarn for my current project.”

“And your current project is?”

Bethanne heaved a sigh of resignation. “A sweater for my daughter.”

“That pink cashmere sweater is for me?” Annie cried, absolutely delighted if the smile on her face was any indication.

“Yes, for you, but no longer a surprise.”

“Mom, I love that sweater and I’m so excited you’re knitting it for me.”

Bethanne knit almost every night; it was her one true relaxation. At the same time, she was practical enough to like the fact that she could produce something both useful and beautiful. It seemed like a hundred years ago that her teenage daughter had taken the initiative and signed Bethanne up for the knitting class. She’d graduated from socks to sweaters and was planning to knit an afghan to give Andrew for Christmas.

Bethanne left the meatballs baking in the oven, instructing Annie to take them out in half an hour. As she drove to the yarn store, she found herself thinking about the day Grant had walked out. That had been the worst moment of her life, but every day since had been better than the one before. She was independent and happy; her children were doing well.

Both Andrew and Annie had worked on improving their relationships with their father, and they were at peace. She knew Grant wasn’t happy, and in many ways she felt sorry for him. However, he’d made his choices, and she couldn’t and didn’t concern herself with him anymore. She had her own life to live.

Luckily there was a space directly in front of A Good Yarn and Bethanne took it, hopped out of her car and placed the appropriate coins in the parking meter. She only had a few minutes before Lydia closed the store.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time,” she said, walking through the door.

“Bethanne!” Lydia sounded delighted to see her. Coming around the counter, Lydia hugged her, then brought out the skein of pink cashmere she’d put aside. “It’s the same dye lot as the original,” Lydia assured her. She stepped back to the cash register. “It’s so wonderful to see you.”

“I feel the same way,” Bethanne said. “I’ve got a free Friday afternoon next week, so I’ll drop in for the charity knitting session. How’s everyone?” She hadn’t been in two weeks and missed seeing the women who’d become so special to her.

“Everyone’s great,” Lydia told her. “Jacqueline is still in seventh heaven over her new granddaughter. She brought pictures.”

“More pictures?” Bethanne said with a laugh. She paid for her wool, glancing around the store. It was easy to see that the little shop on Blossom Street continued to thrive. She loved the new designer yarns and the increased inventory. Lydia had scored a success, and Bethanne hoped her own fledgling business would emulate it.

“Can I tell everyone you’ll be by next week?” Lydia asked, handing Bethanne her purchase.

“With bells on,” she promised and tucked the skein in its A Good Yarn bag inside her large purse.

Lydia smiled. “You look really good.”

“Thanks,” Bethanne said, and blushed a bit at the attention. She’d gotten plenty of that lately and wasn’t quite sure why. She felt good and suspected it showed. Life felt good. Her world had been thrown into upheaval, and had taken a long time to right itself.

When she left the yarn store, she saw that Paul had arrived at the café and had a table. He stood when she entered, waving. She waved back, saw Alix at the counter and sent her friend a smile before joining Paul.

“Angela will be here in a few minutes,” he explained, indicating the third mug on the table.

“How is she?” Bethanne asked, pulling out her chair and sitting down.

“She’s engaged.”

“Angela’s engaged,” Bethanne repeated in shock—before she comprehended his meaning. “To you!”

“I should hope so,” Paul said with a laugh.

“Congratulations.” Bethanne half stood to hug him. “That’s just fabulous!” Her instincts had been right, and this news was all the validation she needed. Falling in love with each other would have been easy, but it would’ve been like taking refuge in a safe harbor rather than venturing out into riskier seas. She’d needed courage to take the stand she did. Paul hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone else, and in the beginning he’d found the transition from potential lover to friend difficult. Time and distance had helped.

“I didn’t think I’d ever fall this deeply in love again,” he confessed. “In fact, it’s better the second time around.”

“Oh, Paul …”

“It’s your turn,” he said.

“Perhaps, but I’m in no hurry.” And she wasn’t.

The door opened and a tall, lovely brunette walked into the café. Her eyes scanned the room; when she saw Paul, her face relaxed into a smile.

Paul stood and held out his hands to her, and Bethanne watched as Angela approached him. Paul kissed her on the cheek and she sat down next to Bethanne. She’d met Angela briefly a couple of months back and it had become obvious to her then that this woman was special to Paul.

“I understand congratulations are in order.”

Angela nodded. “We’ve decided on a winter date, and it would mean the world to both of us if you’d plan our wedding.”

Bethanne smiled. She’d only arranged one other wedding—Elise and Maverick’s—and if this one went half as well … Nothing would give her greater joy than to be involved in the wedding of her dear friend.

“I’d be delighted,” she told them both.

“And like I said,” Paul insisted with his arm around Angela’s shoulders, “you’re next.”

Still smiling, Bethanne shrugged off his words. The divorce hadn’t disillusioned her about love and marriage. If anything, it’d confirmed the importance of family and commitment. Remarrying wasn’t a priority, but an option—something that might well be part of her future.

In the meantime, she had her children, her friends, her work. She’d rediscovered herself, become the woman she wanted to be, and found new pleasure in the things she loved to do—like gardening and reading and above all, knitting.

It was enough.

48
CHAPTER

ELISE BEAUMONT

Elise glanced at the recipe again, adding flaxseed and blueberries to the mix. She’d taken it upon herself to see to it that Maverick ate healthy, nutritious meals. She believed this would help in his fight against leukemia.

So far, his progress had been encouraging. Maverick was quick to credit her and the meals she so carefully planned. Elise, however, demurred at his praise; yes, a proper diet played its part, but it was love that had kept Maverick alive this long.

“What are you baking now?” Maverick asked from where he sat in the condo living room, the newspaper on his lap. The view of Seattle was spread out before them.

“Goodies.”

“The boys love your goodies, you know.”

Elise grinned. He wasn’t referring to their grandsons, although Luke and John were quite impressed with her baking skills. The minute they walked into the condo they went directly to the cookie jar, anticipating a treat.

“What time will the boys get here?” she asked, and slid the muffin tin into the preheated oven. These “boys” were Maverick’s cronies, who stopped by two and sometimes three times a week for a friendly game of poker. He’d met them at the local poker parlor where he’d first played in order to win a slot in the tournament.

“They’ll be here at three,” he said. He was apparently well-known in the gambling world. His initial failures, during their marriage, had made her angry and fearful. In her fear—and self-righteousness—Elise had preferred to think of him as living from hand to mouth. In reality, he’d become a success. But he didn’t encourage anyone else to choose the life he’d lived, and in fact, dissuaded others from becoming professional gamblers. In retrospect he wished he’d made a different choice.

Elise joined her husband in the living room and sat on the arm of his chair. He held her around the waist and sighed, his eyes closing. He was tired, she knew. A session of tests at the doctor’s office that day had drained him, but the most recent news had bolstered both their spirits. The progression of the leukemia had slowed considerably. They’d gotten a reprieve. Elise didn’t know how long this would continue, but she figured every single day with him was a blessing she hadn’t anticipated.

“Why don’t you take a nap before the game?” she suggested.

“I think I will.”

She slipped off the chair and sat across from him as Maverick lay back in the recliner. Reaching for her white wicker basket, Elise unfolded her pattern. She was knitting Maverick a lap robe for times like this. The needles made small clicking sounds. Comforting sounds.

They’d been together a year now, and not once had she regretted remarrying Maverick. Every day since then had been a honeymoon. She loved the way he loved their daughter and their grandchildren. He’d seen to Aurora’s future and David’s, and to those of Luke and John with trust funds.

The matter of Elise’s lawsuit had been resolved. A portion of her down payment had been refunded; it was more than she’d expected and less than she would’ve liked. The money she’d received was currently invested. That chapter of Elise’s life was closed, and she was grateful to have survived it financially.

She’d never told her knitting friends that Maverick was the one responsible for their good fortune. It’d been tempting, but she’d kept quiet. As Courtney described her beautiful dress and shared the details of the Homecoming dance and the visit with her sister—thanks to the generosity of her fairy godfather—Elise had listened and silently cheered. Tears had gathered in her eyes as she tried to remember each and every word so she could repeat it to Maverick.

The difference his gift had made to Bethanne was even more striking. She’d told Elise privately about the stranger who’d given her a head start on her business, and how much those few thousand dollars had meant to her. That money had changed everything and had come to her when she most needed it.

Bethanne had an impressive business vision. Elise wouldn’t be surprised by anything she undertook. A few years from now, Bethanne’s party business could well become a franchise. Her ideas were original, fresh, inventive. Maverick’s generosity had contributed to Bethanne’s success, and someday her friend would give a similar gift of money and encouragement to another struggling entrepreneur. Elise found pleasure and pride in knowing that.

Not once in all the weeks afterward had Bethanne breathed a word about the money to the women in the knitting group. That was just as well. If Bethanne had said something in addition to what Courtney had already mentioned, their friends might have figured it out. Maverick didn’t want any thanks or displays of appreciation; he preferred to remain anonymous, unacknowledged.

Elise smiled to herself as she continued knitting. She suspected Lydia knew. She’d never come right out and asked Elise, but she’d casually said one day that there seemed to be a fairy godfather at work in their group. Elise had tried to suggest it must’ve been Courtney’s dad, but Lydia just shook her head. Thankfully, she didn’t bring it up again. Elise didn’t want to mislead a woman she considered one of her best friends.

She heard the timer on the stove and set aside her knitting to check the cupcakes. Turning off the oven, she took out the muffin tin and placed it on a cooling rack. The scent of warm blueberries filled the kitchen. She intended to slather the cupcakes with a cream cheese frosting and serve them to Maverick and his friends. Little did the “boys” realize how healthy these desserts were.

A half hour later, Maverick woke, looking noticeably rested. He glanced at his watch; the game would start in less than twenty minutes.

Predictably enough, the phone started to ring at three o’clock and Bart, the first of the boys, arrived. He was quickly followed by Al and Fred.

“Smells mighty good in here,” Bart said, sniffing the air. He winked at Elise. “No one bakes better’n you, no sir. I’ll bet those taste as good as they smell, too.”

Elise smiled at the blatant flattery. “I’ll see what I can do to make sure you get one, Bart.”

He grinned. “I do appreciate that, Mrs. Beaumont.”

Al and Fred weren’t far behind, staggering playfully toward the kitchen, led by their noses.

“You been baking again?” Al asked, hat in his hands, eyes comically wide.

Maverick shared a secret smile with her. “You’re spoiling my friends,” he murmured.

“Those for us poor old men?” Fred rubbed his hands together. “Us poor hungry old men …”

“Would you three stop it,” Elise said, halfheartedly attempting to hold in a laugh. “You know darn well I always bake on Tuesdays.”

Bart poked his elbow in Al’s ribs. “That’s the reason we’re here, remember?”

“I thought you came for the poker,” Maverick teased.

“That, too.”

Chuckling, they gathered around the kitchen table. Maverick pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled. Each one bought in for twenty dollars; the winner of the “tournament” took home the pot.

Within minutes, they were involved in their game. Elise frosted the cupcakes, then went back to her knitting. When the men had finished, she served coffee and cupcakes to the accompaniment of much praise and fulsome thanks.

Maverick caught her eye and she smiled at the man she loved. Her husband smiled back. Being in love did something for a woman, she decided. There was no feeling, no experience, to equal it.

49
CHAPTER

“Sock knitting teaches us to take one step at a time—cuff, heel, foot, toe—and not to be overwhelmed by the big picture.”

—Kathy Zimmerman, Kathy’s Kreations, Ligonier, PA. www.kathys-kreations.com

LYDIA HOFFMAN

There’s a lull at the shop, and after a busy morning, I’ve decided to take a break in the office. Margaret will handle the customers while I put my feet up. It’s been rush, rush, rush all morning.

A Good Yarn is doing well—so well—and I’m grateful. I sometimes feel as if I’m living in a dream. I know I’m not, because the diamond on my finger sparkles and my heart is full of love for Brad and Cody. I’m quite possibly the happiest woman in the world. I’m engaged to marry the hand-so-mest, most wonderful man alive. Within a couple of months, I’ll be living with Brad and Cody and Chase. Whiskers, thankfully, tolerates Cody’s dog and will probably teach him some discipline.

I don’t think my life could get any better than it is right at this moment.

When I first opened the doors to A Good Yarn, it was my affirmation of life. Little did I realize, two years ago, what would happen and all the friends I would make. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix have become very dear to me. They were the three who gave me my start.

I’ve held several classes since the baby blanket class. All of them were good, but none of those relationships matched the closeness I felt with my first three students. Until recently, with the sock class. That was when Elise, Bethanne and Courtney entered the shop and my life. I didn’t think it was possible to feel as close to another class as I did my original one, but again life has taught me a valuable lesson.

I recall how difficult Elise was that first day, fretting over her ex-husband’s coming visit. And Bethanne, with her self-esteem shattered by her divorce, and Courtney, a lonely, overweight teenager struggling with a loss of her own. The four of us connected through knitting—who would’ve thought a pair of socks could change your life? I treasure each one of these women as a true friend, the same way I do Jacqueline, Carol and Alix.

Then there’s my sister. I never thought the day would come when I’d claim my sister as my very best friend. Well, that day has arrived. We’re closer now than at any other time in our lives. And that special understanding started when she first came to work at the shop.

My sister and I are sharing the responsibility of looking after Mom. Her health is declining rapidly and I suspect we won’t have her with us much longer. That makes each day we have her all the more precious. She’s still lonely without Dad, still a bit lost.

Both Margaret and I work hard at keeping her busy. We make sure she has lots of small things to look forward to each week—a visit, an outing, shopping, a new book. Anything that we know will bring her joy.

Mom is knitting more and Margaret’s been picking her up on Friday afternoons so she can join the other women who do charity knitting. She enjoys these occasions and feels part of the knitting community. My mother is a fast knitter and she’s contributed enough patches to make an entire blanket for Warm Up America, plus another for the Linus Project. I think Dad would be very pleased to see the three of us working together, knitting.

I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts that Margaret’s standing directly in front of me before I notice her. “I’m leaving to pick up Mom,” she announces.

“Great.” I lower my feet. I’m generally not this tired on a Friday morning, but Brad, Cody and I were at a Mariners’ playoff game last night and it went into extra innings. I didn’t get to bed until after midnight and had to be up early to meet with a yarn sales rep. Brad and Cody, my two sweethearts, are real baseball fans and I’ve learned to love the game, so it wasn’t any sacrifice to be out so late.

Soon after Margaret’s departure, Elise comes into the shop, carrying her knitting. The changes in Elise since she remarried Maverick would make anyone a believer in marriage! She’s so much more relaxed now and genuinely happy.

I’ve pretty much figured out that Maverick was our fairy godfather, although I’ve never asked her directly and she hasn’t volunteered the information.

“Where’s Maverick?” I ask. He almost always accompanies Elise on Fridays. I’ve purchased a special chair for him, so he can read while the rest of us knit and talk. Maverick’s face might be hidden behind a book, but he’s listening. He always was a good listener, or so Elise tells me. Each one of us has more or less adopted Maverick. I know his condition is stable, and although we’re all pleased by that, we worry, too. His immune system has been compromised by the treatments. But Elise is taking good care of him. Those two are so happy together, so accepting of each other. It almost seems that love is what they’re living on now.

“He’s parking the car,” Elise says. “He’ll be along shortly.”

“How is he?” I ask.

“Doing really well.” From the look in her eyes I know she’s telling the truth, and I’m relieved. “Bethanne’s here, too, and I saw Jacqueline and Carol over at the French Café, chatting with Alix. I imagine they won’t be long.”

“Great.”

A small package had arrived from Courtney earlier in the week, with several patches for the Warm Up America blanket we’re currently working on. She has a whole group of girls in her dorm knitting now. Inside was a long letter that I plan to read to the entire group.

According to Bethanne, Courtney keeps in touch with Annie and Andrew. It’ll be interesting to see if Courtney and Andrew can maintain a long-distance relationship. I know Bethanne has encouraged both of them to date others and I believe they do. Above all, they’re good friends; I hope they stay friends.

Speaking of Bethanne, I don’t see her as often as I’d like. We’re all so proud of her. And not just because of her success with the business, either. Let me add that she’s planning Brad’s and my wedding, and I wouldn’t trust that to anyone else.

No, the real reason for my pride in her is the way she’s virtually reinvented herself, the way she’s found confidence, in herself and in others. As I remember it, she didn’t even sign up for the class on her own. Her daughter made the phone call on her behalf.

And I feel that we in the class—but especially Elise—can take some of the credit for encouraging that transformation.

The bell rings above the door and Brad strolls into the shop. We see each other nearly every day now that the date for the wedding’s been set. Alix has volunteered to bake the cake and Jacqueline insists we have the reception at the country club, but Bethanne is the one organizing it all. Margaret has agreed to be my matron of honor, and I have six bridesmaids. Six! It wasn’t hard to decide who I wanted to stand up with me—my dearest friends. My knitting friends.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Brad greets me, wheeling his cart with an expert hand. “How are you this beautiful afternoon?”

I smile back. Fine, I tell him. Better than fine. Happy and very much in love with him and with life in the shop on Blossom Street.

Peter’s Socks by Nancy Bush

Materials—Bearfoot from Mountain Colors (60% superwash wool, 25% mohair and 15% nylon) 350 yds, (320 metres) in 100 g 1 skein “Moose Creek”. Set of 5 #1 (2.5 mm) double point needles or size to give gauge.

Gauge—5 sts and 20 rnds = 2” over stocking stitch before blocking.

Finished measurements after blocking—length of leg from cast-on edge to top of heel flap 8.5” (21.5 cm); length of foot from back of heel to tip of toe 10.5” (28.5 cm).

Leg

Cast on 65 sts. Divide sts onto four needles. Join, being careful not to twist. Begin patt–p1,* k3, p2, rep from * ending k3, p1. Work this ribbing as est for 7 more rnds. Work 1 rnd p. Rep these 9 rnds 2 more times. Cont in ribbing as est until leg measures 8.5” long. End ready to begin next rnd.

Heel Flap

K16, turn. Sl 1, p31. These 32 sts form the heel flap. The remaining 33 sts will be held for instep. Next row: *Sl 1, k1, rep from * to end, turn. Sl 1, p all across row. Rep these 2 rows until you have worked 32 rows total and have 16 chain sts down edge of flap. End having completed a WS row.

Turn Heel

Slip 1, k17, ssk, k1, turn. Sl 1, p5, p2 tog, p1, turn. *Sl 1, k to within 1 st from gap, ssk, k1, turn. Sl 1, p to within 1 st from gap, p2 tog, p1, turn. Rep from * until 1 st remains outside gap at each end. Sl 1, k16, ssk, turn. Sl 1, p16, p2 tog, turn (18 sts remain).

Gussets

K across the 18 heel sts. On the same needle, pick up and knit 16 sts down right side of heel flap. With a new needle, patt as est across instep. Pick up and knit 16 sts down left side of heel flap and knit 9 sts from heel. You will have 25 sts on first needle, 33 sts on instep, divided onto two needles, and 25 sts on last needle = 83 sts total.

Begin shaping the gussets. Rnds begin centre of heel. K to 3 away from end of first needle, k2 tog, k1. Work across instep in patt as est. At beg of last needle, k1, ssk, k to end. Work one rnd even, keeping instep sts in patt. Cont in this manner, decreasing at the end of needle #1 and the beginning of needle #4 every other rnd and keeping patt as est on instep needle until back sts are decreased to 16 sts on each needle and you have 65 sts total.

Cont without decreasing until foot measures 3” less than desired finished length.

Toe

Work 3 rnds in St st.

Begin shaping toe:

Rnd 1—*K6, k2 tog, rep from * to 3 away from end of rnd, k 3 tog.

K 5 rnds even.

Rnd 7—*K5, k2 tog, rep from * to end. K 5 rnds even.

Rnd 13—*K4, k2 tog, rep from * to end. K 4 rnds even.

Rnd 18—*K3, k2 tog, rep from * to end. K 3 rnds even.

Rnd 22—*K2, k2 tog, rep from * to end. K 2 rnds even.

Rnd 25—*K1, k2 tog, rep from * to end. K 1 rnds even.

Rnd 27—*k2 tog, rep from * to end.

You will have 8 sts remaining.

Break yarn, and with a tapestry needle, draw yarn through the remaining sts and pull up snugly to close end of toe. Weave in ends and block socks on sock blockers or under a damp towel.

Abbreviations

Cont—continue

Cm—centimetre

Est—established

G—grams

K—knit

K2 tog—knit two together

Mm—millimetre

P—purl

P2 tog—purl 2 together

Patt—pattern

Sl 1—slip one (as to purl)

Ssk—slip, slip, knit: slip one stitch as to knit, slip the next stitch as to knit, knit these two slipped stitches together.

St(s)—stitch(es)

St st—stocking stitch

Rnd(s)—round(s)

WS—wrong side

Yds—yards

Peter’s Socks by Nancy Bush Translated for two circular needles by Cat Bordhi

Yarn: Mountain Colors Bearfoot (60% superwash wool, 25% mohair, 15% nylon, 100 g/ 350 yds), 1 skein in colourway “Moose Creek.”

Needles: two size 1 (2.5 mm) circular needles 16”–24” length, or size to give gauge.

Gauge: 15 sts and 20 rnds = 2” (5 cm) over stocking stitch before blocking.

Finished measurements after blocking: length of leg from cast-on edge to top of heel flap 8.5” (21.5 cm); length of foot from back of heel to tip of toe 10.5” (28.5 cm).

Knitting in the round on two circular needles: The stitches are divided between two circular needles. Each needle knits only its own stitches. The only interaction between the two needles is to pass the yarn to the next needle when finished knitting its own stitches. So while the first needle works its own stitches, the second circular needle rests, its stitches lined up on its cable and its ends hanging down out of the way, doing nothing at all. When the first needle is finished knitting all its stitches, the yarn is in position for the second needle to receive it and knit its own stitches, while the first needle rests. And so on.

Leg

Cast on 65 sts to the first circular needle. Slide 32 of the 65 sts onto the second circular needle, so that the working yarn comes from the end of this needle, while the first needle (with the remaining 33 sts) ends with the yarn tail. Move the 32 sts on the second needle to the middle of its cable, with the tips hanging down out of the way. Push the 33 sts on the first needle to its tip with the tail end of the yarn nearest the tip. Hold the other tip in your right hand, and prepare to knit with the yarn coming from the second needle. Being careful not to twist the cast-on sts, join by beginning ribbing pattern: *p2, k3, rep from * to end. Work ribbing for 7 more rnds. Purl 1 rnd. Rep these 9 rnds twice more. Continue ribbing until leg measures 8.5” long, ending with a completed first needle.

Heel Flap

You will work back and forth in rows on the second needle alone to make the square heel flap and turn the heel. The 33 sts on the first needle will become the instep and gussets, and you will resume working with them later. Begin heel flap: *Sl 1, k1, rep from * to end, turn. Sl 1, p to end. Rep these 2 rows until you have worked 32 rows total and have 16 chain sts along each edge of flap. End with a completed purl row.

Heel Turn

Continuing to work back and forth on second needle, sl 1, k17, ssk, k1, turn. Sl 1, p5, p2 tog, p1, turn. *Sl 1, k to within 1 st from gap, ssk, k1, turn. Sl 1, p to within 1 st from gap, p2 tog, p1, turn. Rep from * until 1 st remains outside gap at each end. Sl 1, k16, ssk, turn. Sl 1, p16, p2 tog, turn (18 sts remain).

Gussets

Resume working with two circular needles in the round. Still using second needle, k across the 18 heel sts. Pick up and k 16 in the 16 chains along side of heel flap. Let second needle hang, and with first needle, work ribbing as established across its 33 instep sts (the needle should begin and end with k3). Let first needle hang. With second needle, pick up and k 16 in remaining 16 chains along side of heel flap and k to end of needle. You have 50 sts on the second needle and 33 on the first. Begin shaping the gussets: *Knit instep ribbing with first needle. With second needle, k1, ssk, k until 3 sts remain on needle, k2 tog, k1. Knit 1 rnd, maintaining ribbing on first needle. Repeat these 2 rnds until 32 sts remain on second needle, 65 sts total. K all sts until foot measures 3” less than desired finished length.

Toe

Knit 3 rnds, then begin shaping toe:

Rnds 1–6: *K6, k2 tog, rep from * to 3 sts before end of rnd, k 3 tog (56 sts). Knit 5 rnds.

Rnds 7–12: *K5, k2 tog, rep from * to end (48 sts).

K5 rnds even.

Rnds 13–17: *K4, k2 tog, rep from * to end (40 sts).

K 4 rnds even.

Rnds 18–21: *K3, k2 tog, rep from * to end (32 sts).

K 3 rnds even.

Rnds 22–24: *K2, k2 tog, rep from * to end (24 sts).

K 2 rnds even.

Rnds 25–26: *K1, k2 tog, rep from * to end (16 sts).

K 1 rnd even.

Rnd 27: *k2 tog, rep from * to end (8 sts). Cut tail of yarn, and with a tapestry needle, draw yarn through remaining sts and pull up snugly to close end of toe. Weave in ends. Make second sock, then block on sock blockers or under a damp towel.

Abbreviations

K—knit

K2 tog—knit two together

P—purl

P2 tog—purl 2 together Sl

1—slip one (as to purl)

Ssk—slip, slip, knit: slip one stitch as to knit, slip the next stitch as to knit, knit these two slipped stitches together.

St(s)—stitch(es)

Rnd(s)—round(s)

Susannah’s Garden

For my friends all through school, as we remember the paths we took, and didn’t take.

Jane Berghoff McMahon, Judy St. George Senecal, Cindy Thoma DeBerry, Diane DeGooyer Harmon, Cheryl Keller Farr, Kathy Faith Harris, Bev Gamache Regimbal, Yvette Dwinell Lundy

and

Carol Brulotte

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

CHAPTER
1

Vivian Leary stood motionless at the corner of the street, her eyes darting from side to side. She had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten lost. After all, she’d lived in Colville her entire life. She should know—did know—every square inch of this town. But the last thing she remembered was going out to collect the mail and that must have been hours ago.

The street didn’t look familiar and the houses weren’t any she recognized. The Henderson house at the corner of Chestnut and Elm had been her marker, but it was nowhere in sight. She remembered that the Hendersons had painted their place white with green shutters. Where was it? she wondered, starting to feel frantic. Where was it? George would be upset with her for taking so long. Oh no, how could she have forgotten? George was dead.

The weight of grief settled over her, heavy and oppressive. George, her beloved husband, was gone—taken from her just two months short of their sixtieth anniversary. It had all happened so fast….

Last November, her husband had gone outside to warm up the car before church, and a few minutes later he lay dead in the carport. He’d had a massive heart attack. The nice young man who’d come with the ambulance had told her George was dead before he even hit the pavement. He sounded as if this was supposed to comfort her. But nothing could have eased the shock, the horror, of that dreadful morning.

Vivian blinked hard, and despite the May warmth of eastern Washington, a chill raced up her bare arms. She tried to extinguish her growing panic. How was she going to find her way home?

Susannah would know what to do—but then she remembered that her daughter didn’t live in Colville anymore. Of course Susannah wasn’t at home. She had her own house. In Seattle, wasn’t it? Yes, in Seattle. She was married with two precious children. Susannah and Joe’s children. Good grief, why couldn’t she think of their names? Her grandchildren were her joy and her pride. She could picture their faces as clearly as if she was looking at a photograph, but she couldn’t recall their names.

Chrissie. The relief was instantaneous. Her granddaughter’s name was Chrissie. She was born first and then Brian was born three years later. Or was it four years? It didn’t matter, Vivian decided. She had their names now.

What she needed to do was concentrate on where she was—and where she should go from here. It was already starting to get dark and she didn’t want to wander aimlessly from street to street. But she couldn’t figure out what to do next.

If there’d been any other pedestrians around, she could’ve stopped and asked for directions to Woods Road.

No…Woods Road had been her childhood address. She hadn’t lived there since she was a schoolgirl, and that was before the war. For heaven’s sake, she should be able to remember her own address! What was wrong with her?

The place she was looking for was the house she and George had bought almost forty-five years ago, when the children were still at home. She felt a mixture of fear…and shame. A woman of eighty should know where she lived. George would be so frustrated and impatient if he ever found out about this…. Only he’d never know. That didn’t make her feel any better, though. She needed him, and he wasn’t there to help her, and that filled her with anxiety so intense, she wrung her hands.

Vivian started walking again, although she wasn’t sure where she was headed. Maybe if she kept moving, if she concentrated hard enough, the memory would eventually return to her.

Her legs tired quickly, and she sighed with relief when she saw a bench by the side of the road. Vivian couldn’t understand why the city would place a nice wooden bench there—not even near a bus stop. It was a waste of taxpayers’ money. If George knew about this, he’d be fuming. He’d been a public servant all those years, a superior court judge. A fine one, too, a man of principle and character. How proud Vivian was of him.

Still, she was so grateful for somewhere to sit, she wasn’t about to complain. George had freely voiced his opinions about matters of civic responsibility and what he called city hall’s squandering of resources. While she listened to her husband’s views, she didn’t always share them. She had her own thoughts when it came to politics and things like that, but she usually didn’t discuss them with George. That was something she’d learned early in her marriage. George always wanted to convince everyone of the superiority of his ideas and he’d argue until he wore people down. So when her views differed from his, she kept them to herself.

Sitting on the hard bench, she glanced about, hoping to find a landmark. Oh my, this was a busy street. Cars whizzed past, their lights blinding her until she felt dizzy. She wasn’t nearly as tired now that she was sitting. That was good, because she needed to think. Thinking was important. She hated forgetting basic facts, like her address, her phone number, people’s names. This happened more and more often now that George had died, and it frightened her.

Perhaps if she closed her eyes for a moment, that would help. She’d try to relax, clear her mind, since all this worry only made her memory less reliable.

It was chilly now that the sun had gone down. She should’ve brought a sweater but she’d been working in the garden earlier and it had been hot. Her irises were lovely this spring, even though her garden was in sad shape. For years, it had been a source of pride and she hated the way it looked these days. She did as much as she could, but so much else needed to be done. Weeding, pruning, planting annuals…After dinner she’d decided to do some watering and remembered that she hadn’t collected the mail. That was when she’d gone out, planning to walk to the neighborhood mailbox. And now here she was, lost and confused and afraid.

That was when Vivian sensed someone’s presence and opened her eyes. Joy coursed through her veins as she stared, wondering if her mind had betrayed her.

“George?”

Her husband of fifty-nine years stood beside her, shadowed under the nearby streetlight. His smile warmed her and she straightened, eyes wide open, terrified he’d disappear. George had come to help her, come to save her.

“That is you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer but stood there plain as could be. He’d always been such a handsome man, she thought, admiring his broad shoulders and his confident posture.

They’d been high school sweethearts and known each other their entire lives. Vivian felt she was the luckiest girl in the world when George Leary asked her to marry him. They’d been apart for nearly three years while he was fighting in Europe. Then he’d gone to college to get his law degree on the G.I. Bill. That time of struggle had paid off, though, and after a few years of private practice, he’d been invited to join the bench. George had been the one and only love of her life and she missed him terribly. How like him to come to her now, in her hour of need.

Vivian reached out to him, but George backed away. She dropped her hand abruptly, biting her lower lip. No, of course—she should’ve realized she couldn’t touch him. One couldn’t touch the dead.

“I’m lost,” she whispered. “Don’t be angry with me, but I can’t find my way home.”

He smiled again and she was so relieved he wasn’t upset with her. She’d forgotten things before he died, too, and sometimes he got frustrated, although he tried to hide it. She’d even stopped cooking but that was because she’d forgotten so many of her recipes. The ones in cookbooks were too hard to read, too confusing. But George never complained and often heated soup for both of them.

Vivian felt she should explain what had happened. “I went to get the mail and I must’ve decided to go for a walk, because when I looked up I wasn’t anywhere close to the house.”

He stretched out his hand and she got to her feet.

“Can you take me home?” she asked, hating how plaintive and helpless she sounded.

He didn’t answer. Then she realized that dead men couldn’t talk, either. That was all right; she didn’t care as long as George stayed with her. Six months it had been since he’d died and every one of those months had seemed an eternity.

“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, trying to hide the way her voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, George, I miss you.” She told him about the garden, even though she knew she was rambling. He’d never liked it when she talked too much, but she was afraid he’d have to leave soon, and there was so much to tell him. “George, I’m sure Martha is stealing. I just don’t know what to do. I watch her like a hawk when she comes to clean, but still I find things missing. I can’t let her rob me blind, and yet I hate to fire her after all these years. What should I do?” She hadn’t really expected him to answer, and he didn’t.

Then, suddenly, she saw the house. They were on Chestnut Avenue, where they’d lived since 1961. She walked laboriously to the front door, holding on to the railing and taking the steps one at a time. When she looked up to thank George for helping her, her beloved husband had vanished.

“Oh, George,” she sobbed. “Come back to me…please. Please come back.”

CHAPTER
2

Susannah Nelson dumped the leftover broccoli salad into a plastic container and shoved it inside the refrigerator, closing the door with unnecessary force. Brian, her seventeen-year-old, had mysteriously disappeared after dinner, leaving her with the dishes. She shouldn’t be surprised. He had a convenient excuse every night to get out of doing his assigned chores.

“Is something bothering you?” her husband asked from his perch in the family room. Joe lowered the newspaper and all Susannah could see were his dark brows and his eyes behind the steel-rimmed reading glasses.

She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but this is the third night in a row that Brian hasn’t done the dishes,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

“I’ll do them,” he offered.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Susannah told him. “Nor should I.”

Joe set the newspaper aside. “This isn’t about Brian, is it? You’re upset about something else.”

“Well, I am annoyed about the way he’s been skipping out on chores, but you’re right, that isn’t everything.” What concerned her most was her inability to identify a specific reason. She’d been on edge for weeks, feeling vaguely dejected.

It didn’t help that she’d dreamed of Jake again last night. Her high school boyfriend had been making nightly appearances, and that unsettled her as much as anything. Susannah was happily married and despite the abrupt ending to her teenage romance, there was no good reason for her to dwell on Jake. Her marriage had survived the crises that any successful marriage does. Her children were nearly grown; her daughter was in college, ready to start her own life. Brian had summer employment, working for a construction company, and would earn enough to pay his own car insurance. The school break would officially begin in a day’s time, and she’d be free for nearly seven weeks. Why, after more than three decades, was she dreaming of Jake? It made no sense whatsoever. There he was, big as life, filling her head with memories of a long-lost love.

“School’s almost out,” Joe reminded her. “That should cheer you up.”

He was right; it should. Today was the last day of classes and her fifth-grade students had been overjoyed at the prospect of summer vacation. Susannah was equally ready for a break. Maybe for more than a break—a change. What kind of change, she didn’t know. She supposed she could think about it over the summer—after tomorrow, anyway, when she’d be finishing her paperwork.

“You’ve been restless since your father died,” Joe commented in a mild voice. He glanced at her across the family room. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“You’re saying I should talk to a counselor?” She hated to think it had come to this. Yes, her father’s death had been a shock, but at the time her grief had seemed…formal. Almost abstract. As though she’d mourned the idea of losing a father more than the man himself. She’d never gotten along with him. They’d tolerated each other, at best. As far as Susannah was concerned, her father was dictatorial, overbearing and arrogant. The moment she turned eighteen, she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“He was your father, Susannah,” Joe reminded her gently. “I know the two of you weren’t close, but he was still your father.” He removed his glasses. “In fact, maybe that’s why you’re feeling like this. Now that he’s dead, there’s no opportunity to settle your differences—to work things out.”

Susannah shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. Her relationship with her father had been difficult. Complicated. But she’d accepted that reality years ago. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Joe looked as if he wanted to argue, but she didn’t let him. “Yes, his death was unexpected, but he was eighty-three and no one lives forever.” The truth of the matter was that while they weren’t completely estranged, they rarely spoke. That didn’t seem to bother him any. Over the years, Susannah had made occasional efforts to bridge the gap between them, but her father seemed incapable of deepening their relationship.

Whenever she’d phoned or visited, Susannah talked to her mother. George Leary was a decent grandfather; she’d say that for him. Both Chrissie and Brian thought the world of her father. As for her—well, it was better to not think about the way he’d interfered with her life, especially during her teenage years. Yes, she was sorry he’d died, especially so suddenly, but she discounted the possibility that his death was the cause of this discontent she felt. If she was going to blame anyone, it would be Jake. But it wasn’t as though she could mention this to Joe, her husband, her wonderful husband. Hey, honey, I’ve been thinking about another man lately. That wouldn’t go over too well, no matter how understanding Joe was.

Her husband continued to study her. “Even though you don’t agree,” he said slowly, “I suspect your father’s death had a strong impact on you. Don’t you remember what it was like when my parents died?”

She did remember and was embarrassed to admit that she’d grieved for her father-in-law more than she had her own dad. When Joe’s mother died ten months later, they’d both been devastated. It had been a rough time for them as a family. Susannah had envied Joe’s close relationship with his parents when her own, particularly with her father, was so distant.

“Of course it was a shock to lose my dad,” Susannah went on, “but I don’t think this mood—”

“Depression,” Joe inserted. “Low-grade, garden variety depression.”

“I am not depressed.” Even while she denied it, she knew Joe was right.

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “If you aren’t depressed, then what is it?”

Joe was a solid, strong, self-assured man. Honorable. After twenty-four years together they’d grown accustomed to each other, so alike that they often ordered the same thing from a menu, read the same books, voted for the same candidates. She didn’t understand how she could lie beside him in the same bed night after night and dream about another man. This wasn’t like her. Not once in her entire marriage had she even considered looking at another man.

She’d be crazy to risk her marriage by searching for a high school fling. The episode with Jake was long over. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since she was seventeen, and that was…oh, more than thirty-three years ago now.

Joe replaced his glasses after polishing the lenses on his shirt. “You’ve had a lot going on in the last six months. Your father’s death, your fiftieth birthday, a demanding year at work and everything else.”

He wasn’t telling Susannah anything she didn’t know. Perhaps those were the reasons for this discontent, this need to find out about Jake, but she doubted it. Even gardening, her passion, didn’t soothe her—or distract her. While she was quick to deny that anything was wrong, Susannah felt certain it all went back to her high school boyfriend and the way their relationship had ended. What she needed was closure—that irritating, overused word. And yet nothing else quite explained it. Jake was an unfinished part of her life, a thread left hanging, a path not taken.

In that sense, her father’s death had triggered her unease, her recurring memories of Jake, since George was the one responsible for breaking them up. As always, he’d been so sure he knew best. The problem was that he sat on his high and mighty judgment seat in court during the day and didn’t step down from it when he came home to his family at night.

Susannah refused to dwell on thoughts of her father, refused to let herself nurture these negative feelings toward him. But tonight, for reasons she didn’t understand, her memories of Jake wouldn’t leave her alone.

“It might be a good idea for you to spend a few weeks with your mother this summer. Perhaps then you’ll find some resolution concerning your father.”

“Maybe,” Susannah agreed, although she didn’t really believe it. They’d already decided she should visit Vivian once the summer holidays started, to check up on her and assess the situation.

The phone pealed in the distance, but neither Joe nor Susannah hurried to answer it. With a teenager in the house, there was no need.

Brian stuck his head out his bedroom door and shouted her name at an ear-splitting decibel. “Mom!”

Susannah wanted to ask him who it was, but he’d retreated into his bedroom so fast she didn’t have a chance. Walking over to the kitchen phone, she lifted the receiver and waited for him to hang up.

“Hello.”

“Susannah, is that you?”

The female voice was familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it.

“It’s Martha West. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Susannah tensed. Martha had been the family housekeeper for years. The only reason she’d be calling was to tell her something had happened to her mother. “Is everything all right with Mom?” The last time Martha phoned had been with the news that Susannah’s father had dropped dead of a heart attack.

“She’s just fine,” Martha assured her. “I did want to talk to you, though, before you drove here. Vivian mentioned that you planned to visit soon and, well…” She hesitated. “There’s no easy way to say this.” Again she paused. “Susannah, your mother seems to think I’m…taking her things. I hope you know I’d never do anything like that. I swear I had nothing to do with those missing teaspoons.”

“Teaspoons?”

“Your mother accused me of taking four of her matching teaspoons when I was there to clean this afternoon.”

“Martha, I know you’d never do anything like that.” The woman was completely trustworthy.

“I would hope not,” she blurted. “And let me tell you that if I was going to steal, it wouldn’t be teaspoons.”

“Makes sense.”

“Then she said I hid her purse. I searched for an hour and found it tucked behind the sofa cushions. When I showed it to her, she said I was the one who’d put it there.”

Susannah groaned. “Oh, Martha, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” the housekeeper said, sounding exasperated. “Nothing’s been the same since your father died. One day she’s her normal self and the next, well, I hardly know her anymore. She asked me why I’d take her things. I would never! You know that. Teaspoons? She believes I walked away with her teaspoons and God help me, even though I looked everywhere, I couldn’t find them. But I didn’t take them!”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I’ll talk to her,” Susannah promised.

“So she hasn’t said anything to you about me supposedly stealing her things?” Martha asked.

“No.” This was a half truth. In their last conversation, her mother had said she wanted to have a talk about Martha once Susannah arrived. Susannah had assumed that the housekeeper was planning to retire. As it was, Martha cleaned the house only twice a week now. She was getting on in years, too.

“I’ll talk to her,” Susannah said a second time—although she had no idea what she’d say.

“Please do, and if you can’t convince her that I’m an honest and loyal employee then…then maybe I should look for work elsewhere.”

“Don’t do that,” Susannah pleaded. “Give me a chance to get to the bottom of this.”

“Good.” Martha seemed somewhat appeased.

“I’ll be in touch when I get there,” Susannah said.

After a few words of farewell, Martha ended the conversation and Susannah replaced the phone.

“What was that all about?” Joe asked as he refolded the evening paper.

Susannah sighed deeply and told him.

“You did say your mother seems awfully forgetful these days.”

Susannah nodded. “I talk to her almost daily, but there’s only so much information I can get over the phone.” She sighed again. “Mom keeps telling me the same things over and over, but I thought that was simply old age. Maybe it’s more than that.” Many of her friends faced similar concerns with their aging parents.

“What about asking one of her friends?” Joe came into the kitchen and stood beside her. Gazing down at her, he clasped her shoulders, his eyes serious.

She looked up at him with a resigned smile. “I’ll give Mrs. Henderson a call. She’s been Mom’s neighbor for years.”

After finding the Hendersons’ phone number, Susannah reached for the phone again. When the initial greetings were dispensed with, she was quick to get to the reason for her call. “I’m worried about my mother, Mrs. Henderson. Have you talked to her lately?”

“Oh, yes,” Rachel Henderson told her, “she’s often out puttering in her garden—not that she gets much done.”

“How is she…mentally?” Susannah asked next.

“Well, to be honest, she just hasn’t been herself since she lost George,” the neighbor said thoughtfully. “I can’t say exactly what’s going on…but I’m afraid something isn’t right with Vivian.”

“How do you mean?” Susannah asked. Joe walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a mug while watching her.

She knew. Deep down, Susannah had known for weeks that her mother was having problems. She’d sensed changes in Vivian even before her father’s death.

“I realize you talk to your mother a lot and I don’t mean to be putting my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Al said I should mind my own business, but then this evening…”

“What happened this evening?” Susannah asked, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Vivian hasn’t adjusted well to losing your father.”

“I know.” Her mother was often weepy and sad, talking endlessly about George and how desperately she missed him. Susannah had driven across the mountains to visit over spring break but had only been able to stay four days. Vivian had clung to her, pleaded with her to remain in Colville longer, but Susannah couldn’t. Driving there and back meant the better part of two days, and that left only one day to prepare for school.

Susannah had tried to talk her mother into moving to Seattle, but Vivian had stubbornly refused to consider it. She didn’t want to leave Colville, where she’d been born and raised. Her surviving friends all lived in the small town sixty-three miles north of Spokane.

“Something happened this evening?” Susannah repeated, wanting Rachel to get to the point.

“I know this may shock you, but your mother asked me to help her find George.”

“What?” Susannah’s eyes shot to Joe. “She thinks my dad’s alive?”

“She claims she saw him.”

“Oh, no,” Susannah muttered.

“She was wandering down the street, looking confused. I got worried, so I went after her. Then she started talking all this nonsense about George—how he brought her home and then disappeared. When was the last time you saw her?”

“March.” Susannah knew she needed to visit Colville more often, but she hadn’t been able to make it during the last few months. Between Brian’s sports, other commitments, including a teaching workshop, and social engagements, there hadn’t been a single free weekend. Guilt felt like a lead weight dragging her down. “I planned to drive over this weekend. School’s out for the summer and I’m going to spend a couple of weeks with Mom.”

“That’s wise,” Mrs. Henderson said. “She’s lost weight, you know.”

Her mother was barely a hundred and ten pounds when Susannah had seen her in March.

“I don’t think she cooks anymore,” her neighbor went on.

During her visit, Vivian had asked her to make dinner every night. Susannah hadn’t minded and the shelves certainly seemed to be well stocked. Although Susannah had noticed a number of gourmet items her mother had never purchased before. Like fancy mustards. And sun-dried tomatoes in pesto, which Susannah had used in a pasta sauce.

“You mean she isn’t eating?” Susannah clarified.

“Not much, as far as I can tell. I keep inviting her over for dinner, but she refuses every time. I’m not the only one she’s refused, either. She seems to be holed up in the house and barely comes out, except to work in her garden.”

“But…why?” Her mother had always been social, enjoying the company of others, hosting parties for George and their friends.

“You’ll have to ask her that.”

“But on the phone she talks as if she sees you quite a bit,” Susannah said. It wasn’t like her mother to lie.

“Oh, yes, we chat over the fence, but I swear…” Mrs. Henderson paused. “Sometimes I’m not sure your mother knows who I am.”

“Oh, dear.” This was what Susannah feared most. Her mother was losing her memory, and it seemed due to more than the erosion of old age.

“Another thing,” Mrs. Henderson said, hesitating again.

“Go on,” Susannah urged.

“The other day when I went to check on her, I found her sitting in the dark. Turns out she forgot to pay the electric bill. She felt embarrassed about it, and I don’t think she’d like me saying anything to you, but I felt you should know.”

Susannah groaned inwardly. These were the very things she’d worried about. Bills unpaid, the stove left on, meals and appointments forgotten.

“Not to worry,” Mrs. Henderson rushed to add. “I helped her get it straightened out and her lights are back on. Like I said, she told me you’d be visiting soon and I thought I’d talk to you then, but this business with her seeing George—now, that’s got me worried.”

It worried Susannah, too. She wished Mrs. Henderson had contacted her earlier. “I tried to talk to Mom about moving into assisted living when I was there in the spring.”

“Yes, she told me. It upset her something fierce that you were going to kick her out of her own house.”

“She said that?” Susannah’s stomach tightened. She was hurt that her mother would even think such a thing, let alone voice it to a neighbor.

“Yes, but quite honestly, Susannah, I don’t feel she should be on her own any longer.”

Susannah should’ve insisted back in March, but she hadn’t felt she could take her mother out of her home so soon after a major loss. She’d had enough upheaval in her life. Evidently it’d been a mistake not to act sooner.

Susannah ran one hand through the soft curls that had fallen onto her forehead.

“It might be best if you came right away,” Mrs. Henderson suggested. “I would’ve phoned you myself, but Al said I should keep out of it. Seeing that you phoned me, well, I figured I’d better tell you what’s going on with your mother. I hope that’s okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m grateful you told me,” Susannah said. “I’ll drive over as soon as I can make arrangements.”

After a brief farewell, Susannah replaced the receiver. Joe leaned against the counter, still watching her, coffee mug in hand.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than I thought,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Apparently she’s wandering around the neighborhood looking for my father.”

Joe released a low whistle. “You’re going over right away, then?” Originally Susannah had intended to wait for the weekend.

“I guess that would be for the best.” Then, thinking out loud, she added, “I don’t have any choice but to put her in an assisted-living facility.”

“I agree.”

Susannah pinched the bridge of her nose, dreading the approaching confrontation. Her mother would fight her on this. She didn’t doubt that for a minute.

“Do you want me to go with you? Perhaps the two of us will be able to talk some sense into her.”

Susannah shook her head.

“You’re sure?” He frowned as though disappointed. “You were wonderful when my parents died, Suze. I want to be there for you.”

For a moment Susannah was afraid she’d cry. “No…I need to do this on my own. I’ve decided,” she said, the idea taking shape in her mind as she spoke, “that I’ll stay in Colville for a while.” Although it was crazy to even consider the idea, she might be able to find out where Jake was living. She had to talk to him, had to find out what had happened and why. Susannah knew her father had something to do with the breakup; she just didn’t know the details. Maybe, once she learned the truth, she could put an end to this fantasizing about Jake.

“Okay.” Joe sighed heavily. “But after you convince her to move, you’ll have to make a decision about the house.”

Susannah hadn’t even thought of that. All at once the task seemed overwhelming.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Joe asked.

She didn’t meet his eyes while she contemplated spending time in Colville. “Three weeks should do it, I imagine. Possibly a month.”

“That long?”

“It isn’t going to be easy to talk my mother into leaving her home,” she said. “And there’s the matter of arranging assisted-living accommodation for her. And cleaning the house. Whether I decide to rent it or put it on the market, either way it’ll need to be cleared out.”

“I could help. Brian, too.”

“No, I can manage.” She appreciated the offer, but she wanted to spend time with her mother—just the two of them. Not only that, she had a private agenda concerning Jake, an agenda she couldn’t confide to her husband. She had to resolve that problem on her own. If Joe and Brian were there, she’d be torn between her present and her past. “Perhaps on the weekends, if you want.” As a dentist, Joe couldn’t change his appointment schedule at the last minute.

“Brian and I have our fishing trip scheduled for next weekend, but we can cancel that.”

“No, don’t,” she protested. It was hard enough for the two of them to find time together.

Joe nodded. “Then we’ll try to come one weekend after that.” He put down his coffee mug and glanced at her, a half smile on his face. “I have a feeling you’re going to learn a lot more than you expected from all of this.”

Susannah suspected he was right.

CHAPTER
3

Chrissie Nelson shoved the last of her clothes into her suitcase and looked anxiously out her dorm room window. Jason was late. He’d promised to be here by ten to take her to the airport. School was over and the dorm was mostly deserted. She’d be flying out of Eugene, where she attended the University of Oregon, to Seattle for the summer. The end of the school year didn’t thrill her, mostly because she’d be leaving Jason behind. She wasn’t like some of her friends, eager to return home. In fact, Chrissie dreaded the emptiness that lay ahead.

Pushing her long straight blond hair over her shoulder, she suppressed a deep sigh. Her roommate, Katie Robertson, had left the night before, and so had several of her other friends. Jason had driven Katie to the airport, but Chrissie’s flight wasn’t until today. He’d stopped by the dorm after he’d dropped Katie off; he and Chrissie had gone out for a farewell drink and he’d promised to meet her in plenty of time for her 11:30 flight. When he’d picked Katie up, he’d arrived with two hours to spare—and he’d waited with her at the airport. Chrissie had a niggling sensation that he’d been more solicitous than necessary….

That made it sound as if she was jealous and she wasn’t. Jason had never given Chrissie the slightest reason to doubt his devotion. He was simply thoughtful. Latching her suitcase closed, she grunted as she lifted it off the mattress with both hands and set it on the floor.

The problem with going home for the summer was that she didn’t have a job. And at this late date, the prospects of decent employment were slim to none.

She was almost twenty and still tied to her parents. Chrissie hated that. The idea of being at home for the next eight or ten weeks—and dependent on her parents for spending money—depressed her. She preferred to stay in Eugene, but her part-time job on campus had ended with the semester. Next year everything would be different; Chrissie intended to make sure of that. This would be her last summer in Seattle. She was an adult, and she wanted to live her own life.

As soon as she got home, she planned to tell her parents that she was moving out of the dorm. Two other girls had invited her to live off-campus with them in a small house. They’d divide the rent, and it would be much cheaper than living at the university for a third year. It would be a good experience, she’d tell her parents, plus it would save them money. She was perfectly capable of managing on her own. Her father would listen to reason, but she wasn’t sure she could count on her mother.

Jason’s Honda Civic pulled up to the curb. Chrissie leaned out the window and waved. He climbed out of his car, glanced up and smiled, then waved back. “I’ll be right there,” he called.

That was typical of Jason—always considerate. She felt fortunate to be with him. They’d met on a blind date and he’d impressed her the moment they began to talk. They had a lot in common, but that didn’t mean they were alike. Far from it. Jason, a law student specializing in accounting law, was about as conservative as they came. His grades were high and his work habits disciplined and methodical. Chrissie, on the other hand, was carefree and fun-loving, and something of a procrastinator. The problem, she’d decided, was that she worked best under pressure. Term papers were written the night before they were due. What other people failed to understand, she often explained righteously, was that she’d been thinking about the subject for weeks, gathering the needed data. Starting it early wouldn’t have improved the end product.

Jason never left anything to the last minute and her delay tactics exasperated him. Still, they were crazy about each other. He did occasionally try to change her ways—and vice versa. At least he didn’t constantly complain about her study habits like her parents did. Her grades weren’t any worse in college than they’d been in high school. Okay, they weren’t great but she never got less than a C. The major reason she’d decided on college was because all her friends were going. Everyone just expected her to continue her education, and she hadn’t come up with anything she’d rather do.

She stayed more because of the social life than the academics—the parties and the boys. Jason, with his wide muscular shoulders, could have been a football player, but sports were of little interest to him. He dressed for class as if he were going into an office, wearing sweaters and slacks in the winter and short-sleeve shirts and Dockers in the summer. His hair was conservatively cut, above the ear. Basically, he was every mother’s dream. Her dream, too, although she would never have expected to fall for a guy like him.

On that first date with Jason, she’d tried to find the beast within, striving to break through his proprieties, with limited success. She was convinced there was a bad boy inside him waiting to emerge and Chrissie wanted to find him. Jason certainly didn’t object, and while they were different they were also good together. He appreciated her spontaneity and lightheartedness. She liked the fact that he was reliable and thoughtful. And although they might argue about everything from politics to movies, they had an enjoyable time making up afterward.

Needless to say, her parents were thrilled with him, and who wouldn’t be? He was as close to perfect a boyfriend for their daughter as they could hope for. She and Jason hadn’t talked about marriage yet, but it wouldn’t surprise her if he gave her an engagement ring at Christmas.

Jason came into her room and heaved the heavy suitcase into his arms. Grunting and panting, he maneuvered it down the stairs—no elevator in her building—while she carried her backpack and purse.

When they reached the bottom, Chrissie cast him a woebegone look. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

“It’ll be fine,” he said without meeting her eyes. But that could’ve been because he was busy hoisting the suitcase into his trunk.

Still, his offhand remark startled her. “It will?” She found that hard to believe.

“I’ll miss you like crazy, but before we know it you’ll be back.”

His cavalier attitude was completely unexpected. She wanted him to feel as bereft as she did; obviously he didn’t. Eyeing him closely, she wondered if she was reading more into his comment than warranted. She didn’t want to sound like a whiny ten-year-old, but she was taken aback by his response.

She decided not to overreact. “You’re right, of course. Besides, I can come and visit you over the Fourth of July.”

“You can?”

“Sure, why not?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to save your money for school?”

She shrugged, as if financial concerns were of little significance. She’d assumed he’d leap at the suggestion. Apparently not. A moment later, Jason took Chrissie by the shoulders and astonished her by kissing her long and hard. Normally, he frowned on public displays of affection, but today nothing about him was the same. She reveled in his moist lips molding to hers as he held her close. “Next summer…” she whispered.

“Next summer?”

“I’ll find a way to stay in Oregon.”

“Good.” With that, he placed her backpack carefully beside the heavy bag and shut the trunk.

“First things first,” she said as Jason opened the passenger door.

He hesitated, looking puzzled.

“I have to convince my mother to let me move out of the dorm before I talk to her about staying in Eugene next summer,” she elaborated.

“You really have a thing about your mother, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Chrissie flared.

“You always seem worried about what she’s going to say.”

His observation irritated her. “That’s not true.” She didn’t want to argue, but he’d totally missed the point.

“You just said you had to get your mother to agree that you can rent with Joan and Katie,” he murmured. “For the last week, ever since final exams, you’ve been complaining about going home and having to deal with her. Not once did you mention your dad.”

“My father is the more reasonable of the two.” She was furious that Jason would even suggest she had a problem with her mother.

“From what I understand, it’s fairly common, you know? Mother-daughter conflict, I mean.”

“Really?” Chrissie said coldly as she climbed into the passenger seat and without waiting closed the door. She fastened the seat belt while Jason walked around to the other side of the vehicle.

“You and your mother seem to have these underlying issues,” he said when he got into the car. He inserted the key into the ignition.

She stared at him, annoyed that he was pursuing the subject. “Are you trying to start a fight?” she asked, refusing to be drawn into one.

Jason turned to her, then gradually smiled. “Not really. Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He pulled away from the curb.

“You don’t act as if you’re going to miss me all that much,” she said, and immediately wanted to swallow her words. They made her seem insecure and she wasn’t.

“What makes you say that?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

“Is it because I didn’t encourage you to fly down for the Fourth of July? If so, the reason—aside from not wanting you to spend the airfare—is that I already have plans.”

“You do?”

“My parents asked me to visit them and I said I would.”

It didn’t escape Chrissie’s notice that he didn’t invite her to join him and his family.

“Are you glad I’m leaving Eugene?” she asked. She knew he’d be staying; he was fortunate enough to have a full-time summer job with a big law firm. His family lived in Grants Pass, a couple of hours away.

Jason sighed as if she were behaving like a difficult child. “Forget I asked,” she snapped. “It was a stupid question.”

“Yes, it was,” Jason said. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Why are you being so sensitive?”

He was right; she was overreacting, even though she’d vowed not to. “Maybe I don’t want to go back to Seattle for the summer. Maybe I’d rather be here with you instead of trapped in a house with my mother for the next ten weeks.” The moment she mentioned her mother, Chrissie realized she’d said the wrong thing.

“Why don’t you talk to her, then?”

“About what? My relationship with her? My mother’s so caught up in her own world that she can’t be bothered with me.”

Jason stopped at a traffic signal. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“How would you know? You only met her once.” Chrissie had brought Jason home at Easter and he’d spent three days with her family. The visit had been a success on all counts.

As they’d pulled out of the family driveway, Chrissie had basked in her parents’ approval. Both of them had liked Jason immensely.

“You have wonderful parents, Chrissie,” he said now.

“Yes—but my mother’s going to make my life hell this summer. She’s upset with me for not having a job, although she’d never come right out and say so. Instead, she’ll find a hundred different things to criticize.”

“I thought you were going to look for a job over spring break,” Jason reminded her.

“I was, but I got busy—the time just slipped away. Don’t you start on me, too.”

“Chrissie…”

“You have no idea what this summer’s going to be like.”

“Oh, come on, Chrissie. It’s not—”

“Let me give you an example,” she broke in, “and this is based on experience. Mom will ask me to clean the bathroom and I will. Then she’ll come in after me and scrub the sink all over again. This is her way of letting me know that I didn’t meet her high standards.” The summer stretched before Chrissie like one long exercise in tolerance and patience. “If she didn’t like how I cleaned the sink, you’d think she’d just say so, but oh, no, not my mother.”

Jason muttered something noncommittal.

“Brian has a job,” she continued. “Mom’s already mentioned that fact about fifty times. He’s working for a construction company.”

“You’re making too much of this.”

“I don’t think so,” Chrissie muttered. “What she’s really saying is that if I’d looked for a job like she wanted me to over spring break, I’d have one waiting for me now.” She could imagine the constant barrage of digs that lay in store for her. Her mother couldn’t bear the thought of Chrissie being idle all summer, so she’d threaten to line up babysitting jobs for her. Babysitting at almost twenty? In Chrissie’s opinion, that was cruel and unusual punishment.

“She seems to believe that finding temporary employment is easy. I suppose I could get a job at a fast-food place, but even those aren’t as available as they used to be. Besides, I don’t want to spend my summer asking someone if they want fries with that.”

“Well…” He clearly wasn’t interested in arguing with her.

“As a last resort, my dad will leap to the rescue and offer me a pity job.”

“A what?”

“He’ll bring me to his office and I’ll be reduced to doing menial tasks, for which he’ll pay me minimum wage.” She sighed. “It’s going to be a dreadful summer. I can tell.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jason countered absently.

Chrissie doubted he’d even heard her. His mind certainly wasn’t on her; that much was apparent. She looked at him and frowned, unsure what to think. Something had changed between them. She could feel it—had felt it from the moment he arrived. Jason had never been late before.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, then added, “Between us, I mean.”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Sure. Why shouldn’t it be?”

Instinct said otherwise. “You drove Katie to the airport last night, didn’t you?”

“You know I did.”

Chrissie noticed that his hand tightened around the steering wheel. What had happened between him and Katie the night before? She didn’t mention how long he’d spent at the airport. Originally she was supposed to tag along, but Katie had a lot of stuff and it would’ve been a tight fit in a small car, so she’d stayed behind. That, apparently, had been a mistake.

Nothing had happened, she told herself. Chrissie couldn’t believe Jason would do that to her. Besides, Katie was one of her best friends. They planned on renting a house together in a few months. The last thing Katie would do was steal Jason away from her.

No, neither of them would betray her, Chrissie thought firmly.

The rest of the drive was completed in an uncomfortable silence.

Jason drove up to the curb at the airport and Chrissie climbed out as soon as he came to a stop. Without a word, Jason jumped out and opened the trunk, heaving her suitcase onto the ground.

“The summer will go fast,” he said with false cheerfulness. “You’ll be back here in no time.”

“Right,” she agreed with the same fake exuberance. “No time at all.”

Jason nodded. “I’ll call you soon.”

She nodded, too, and dragged her bag onto the sidewalk. “I guess I’d better get inside.”

“Have a great summer.”

She tried to smile. “You, too.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, but it fell short of just about every other kiss they’d exchanged. She was afraid she was losing Jason and it broke her heart.

CHAPTER
4

Susannah wasn’t looking forward to this trip back to Colville. The eastern Washington community was like small towns all over the country. Her eyes went immediately to the town clock, which featured a statue of a frontiersman, as she drove through the city center. Colville with its JCPenney store on Main Street was the big city to many of the smaller communities surrounding it. There was a traffic roundabout now, but while she was growing up, Colville had the only traffic light in Stevens County.

It was small-town America at its best.

And its worst.

The drive took seven hours with a brief lunch break. As Susannah rolled into the outskirts of town, her tension grew. She turned the music up louder, trying to lose herself in the insistent beat of the Rolling Stones. The first building she passed was the Burger King restaurant, which had closed its doors. It was probably the only franchise in the entire chain to go out of business. The bowling alley came next. The sign out front listed the special of the day as a breakfast of two eggs, toast and coffee for $2.99—up from the $1.99 of her childhood. That had been the special for as long as Susannah could remember.

She drove past Colville Mortuary, which had once been owned by her uncle Henry, who was long dead now. Susannah had grown up with hordes of cousins, none of whom had settled in the area. They, too, had no reason to stay in Colville.

As she continued down Main Street, she felt a growing sense of dread. Getting her mother into an assisted-living complex wasn’t a prospect she relished. This anxiety, however, resulted from more than the difficult task that awaited her. When Susannah left Colville for college, she’d never looked back. Oh, she’d returned any number of times over the years, but whenever she did, the familiar depression returned, too. Part of that had to do with her brother’s death; he was killed in a car accident the year she turned eighteen. She was in a French boarding school at the time, and her father’s phone call had come in the middle of the day. A call from America was sure to be bad news. And it was. It’d been the worst news of her life. Her brother, older by three years, had died in a crash on a notoriously bad curve just outside Colville.

Susannah’s world changed forever that day. If her brother’s death wasn’t devastating enough, her father had refused to fly her home for the funeral. She never forgave him for that. He’d been the one who insisted on shipping her off to France in the first place. Then, while she was so far from home, her whole life had collapsed. Susannah was never the same afterward. Her parents had never recovered, either.

It seemed to her that whatever happiness her parents had shared vanished after Doug died. Joy fled from their lives, leaving their marriage stark and empty. That was Susannah’s perception, although her mother had a different version of events, a version Susannah considered a case of denial. But then, how could Vivian have stayed with her husband if she’d been honest about her unhappiness—and his role in it?

When Susannah had returned from her year away, she could barely tolerate living in the same house. After she left for college, she didn’t even consider moving back.

Doug’s death wasn’t the only reminder she brought with her. She couldn’t come here and not think about Jake Presley—especially now that he’d invaded her dreams on a nightly basis. Any number of times over the years she’d wondered about him, but never more than in the last few months. The sweet tenderness of her first love had been ruined by her father, too.

Susannah wanted to believe that Jake was happy, a husband and father, and successful in whatever field he’d chosen. It’d taken her a long time to get over him—but she had. Or so she’d thought.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Susannah slowed her car to the reduced thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. She passed Benny’s Motel and the Safeway store where her mother had shopped for fifty years. The four-block-square City Park was behind the motel. Farther down the street was Ole King Cole’s restaurant. Every year on Mother’s Day, that was where her father took her mother for dinner. Either there or Acorn’s.

Refusing to be ambushed by the past, Susannah forced herself to stare straight ahead. When she reached the end of Main, she ventured up the hill toward ChestnutAvenue and her childhood home.

The light was on, although it was barely five o’clock in the afternoon and summer-bright. Susannah pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The screen door opened instantly, as if her mother had been standing on the other side waiting for her arrival.

The house, built in 1960, was constructed of brick. At the time it had been one of the new ranch-style homes, among the most elaborate in town. It had four bedrooms, one of which her mother used for crafts, plus a finished basement with rec room and laundry.

And the garden. Her mother’s beautiful garden. Vivian liked to sit there in the cool of the evening and read or knit. Her father had installed lighting on the back deck for that very reason.

“Susannah.” Vivian held out her arms as Susannah climbed from the car.

Bounding up the front steps, she was shocked to see how frail her mother had become, especially in such a short time. She appeared to have aged ten years since Susannah’s visit in March. Mrs. Henderson was right; Vivian had lost weight, so much that her clothes hung on her. The belted housedress bagged at the waist and her stockings were wrinkled and loose. Susannah wrapped her arms gently around her mother and felt immersed in guilt. She should’ve come sooner, should have realized how poorly her mother was doing.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Vivian said.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Susannah told her. Joe would be fine without her for a few weeks. The children, too. But Susannah’s mother needed her.

“Come inside,” Vivian urged. “I made iced tea.”

Susannah slipped her arm around her mother’s narrow waist and together they walked inside. She was surprised to see a few newspapers scattered on the steps, still in their protective plastic sleeves. This was unlike her meticulous mother.

The house was much as she remembered it from her last visit. The chair where her father had watched television every night sat empty. The crocheted doily pinned against the back was still in place.

Even in his retirement, the television wasn’t allowed on before the five o’clock news. The judge had decreed it and no one dared question his decisions, least of all her mother. Susannah wondered if Vivian watched daytime programs now that her husband was gone. She suspected not. Old habits die hard.

The kitchen table was set with dishes and silverware. “You didn’t make dinner, did you?” Susannah asked.

Her mother turned from the refrigerator and frowned. “You told me not to.”

“I was planning to take you out to eat, anyplace you want.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid I did something wrong.”

“No, Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her smile seemed so fragile, so tentative. After all these years of marriage she was lost without George. Her dependence on him had been absolute, Susannah thought. She blamed her father for that more than she did her mother.

“Sit down and tell me about the children,” her mother said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table for Susannah. The round oak table was an antique now and the chairs along with it.

Stepping over to the counter, her mother filled tall glasses and brought them to the table. Then she sat down, looking expectantly at Susannah.

Susannah sipped her tea. “Brian has a summer job in construction. He’s thrilled and the money is excellent.”

Her mother smiled with approval. “And Christine?”

“Joe’s picking her up from the airport this afternoon.”

Her mother’s smile faded. “She was away?”

“At school, Mom. Chrissie’s coming home from college for the summer.”

“Oh, of course. Chrissie’s away at school now, isn’t she?”

“That’s right. She’s about to enter her junior year.”

“She has a summer job, too?”

Susannah should have anticipated the question. “No. Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll find one.” This was wishful thinking on her part.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, she will. She’s such a beautiful young girl.” Susannah’s gaze drifted into the dining room, where Vivian kept family photos on the buffet. Chrissie’s high school graduation picture stared back at her. Her daughter’s long blond hair, parted in the middle, flowed down over her shoulders as she smiled into the camera. Susannah’s own high school graduation photograph, taken after her return from France, was positioned next to that of her daughter. Her hair had been long and blond then, too, but curlier than Chrissie’s. It had darkened over the years and was now a light shade of brown. These days she kept it short and styled. In her graduation picture, Susannah wore a cap and gown and held her diploma, tilted at an angle as if it were a cherished scroll. It was all for show.

“Chrissie’s so much like you at that age.”

Susannah’s gaze flew back to the photographs. Frankly she didn’t see the resemblance. Her daughter was nothing like her in temperament or in looks. At almost twenty, Chrissie still had a lot of growing up to do.

“It’s in the eyes,” her mother continued.

Susannah looked again, partly, she supposed, in the hope that her mother was right. For the last year or so, Susannah and Chrissie had been at odds. Not for any particular reason, but over a succession of little things. Susannah felt that her daughter didn’t take life seriously enough. She didn’t put much effort into school and tended to waste time lounging in front of the TV, indulging in long conversations with her friends and sleeping in until noon. Chrissie should have summer employment, but instead of going on a job search, she’d frittered away her spring break, convinced she could charm herself into employment when it suited her.

“Your hair was that blond when you were young,” her mother said wistfully.

Susannah didn’t want to disillusion her mother, but Chrissie’s pure blond color came courtesy of an expensive salon.

“The minute Joe’s mother set eyes on the baby, she told us Chrissie looked exactly like her aunt Louise,” Susannah commented. Joe had rolled his eyes, but Susannah did see a resemblance. Not then, of course, but more recently.

“She’s still at school?”

“No, Mom, Chrissie’s flying home. Joe’s going to the airport to pick her up.”

“Oh, yes, you said that, didn’t you? I forget sometimes.”

“That’s all right, Mom, we all do.” She gave her mother’s hand a reassuring pat, then stood. “I’d better bring in my suitcase.”

“You’ll stay more than a day or two this time, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll stay.”

A smile brightened her mother’s dull eyes. “Good. I hoped you would. I’ve been so lost without your father. And now Martha’s left me, too!” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and removed a tissue to dab her eyes.

Martha had quit! Susannah groaned inwardly as she walked out of the house and opened the trunk of her car. She brought in a large suitcase; assuming she’d be in town for a few weeks, she’d packed more than her usual overnight bag.

Susannah carried her suitcase down the hallway to her childhood bedroom, which remained exactly as it had when she’d lived at home. Her desk was still there; her chair, too. The heavy blue drapes were the same, although faded, and the lighter blue shag carpeting looked terribly dated now. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had never updated their home after she’d graduated from college. It was as if they’d been stuck in a time warp for the last thirty years. There’d certainly been money to make changes.

“I saw a friend of yours last week,” her mother said, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway, watching Susannah as she unpacked.

“Who?” Susannah had few friends in town. She’d attended her ten-year reunion, but had felt awkward and out of place. She’d been married to Joe for three years then, and the two of them had stayed at each other’s side. Susannah hadn’t returned for subsequent reunions. She didn’t know these people anymore. Because she’d been away for the last year of school, she hadn’t even graduated with them, not officially.

“Just a minute,” her mother said and closed her eyes, forehead creased in thought. “Carolyn!” she said triumphantly. “You remember Carolyn. Carolyn Bronson.” Her mother paused. “She said you should phone her sometime.”

“Carolyn Bronson?” Susannah couldn’t believe it. Carolyn had been her best friend and the richest girl in Colville. They’d gone to France together. Her father owned the mill that employed nearly forty percent of the town—or had at one time. With the changes in the lumber industry, Susannah didn’t know how the yard had fared.

“You were good friends with her, right?”

Susannah nodded. “But I haven’t seen Carolyn in years.” Carolyn had been the one friend from Colville she’d stayed in touch with for a while. Then they’d grown apart and their correspondence had dwindled down to an annual Christmas card. About twenty-five years ago, Susannah’s card had come back stamped: MOVED—NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. She hadn’t heard from Carolyn since. Her mother had read in the paper—she regularly studied the obituaries—that Carolyn’s parents were both gone. Susannah hadn’t realized Carolyn was back in Colville.

“Carolyn was so excited when I told her you were coming to town. She said she’d love to see you.”

“Did she happen to mention if she was married?”

Vivian shook her head. “She didn’t say, but I think she would have if she was, don’t you?”

Carolyn had married shortly after college; it had lasted barely a year. To the best of her knowledge, Carolyn had never remarried. Susannah wondered if the experience of that divorce had left her friend cynical about marriage.

“I remember her mother,” Vivian murmured, pinching her lips. “She always acted as if she was better than the rest of us.” Carolyn’s mother had been a war bride from Paris, and in retrospect Susannah thought she’d never really adjusted to life in a small American town. Carolyn had been an only child, and her mother had insisted her daughter attend high school in France. She and Susannah were friends all through grade school and junior high, and then Carolyn had left for a boarding school just outside Paris. They’d written for a while, but their letters became infrequent as they each made new friends.

Later Susannah’s father had sent her to the same school. Carolyn had been her salvation.

It was Carolyn who’d cried with her when she learned of Doug’s death. Susannah had been inconsolable and desperate to get home. But that wasn’t to be. She was convinced she wouldn’t have survived the rest of that horrible year without her best friend.

Back in the United States, they’d attended separate colleges but stayed in touch. That special bond had lasted through Carolyn’s failed marriage. Then Susannah met Joe and they’d married and the friendship had slowly come to an end.

“I’ll call her after dinner.”

“Oh, she gave me her number. It’s unlisted.” Her mother seemed flustered for a moment and then relieved. “I remember now, I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it.”

“When did Carolyn move back to Colville?”

Her mother blinked several times, as though this was something she should know and didn’t. “I don’t…remember. I don’t recall if she told me.” Changing the subject, her mother motioned toward the chest of drawers. “Should I clean out the drawers so you’ll have some place to unpack your things? Your father put stuff in there.”

“No, Mom, don’t worry about it.”

Vivian nodded, then shuffled away, presumably to change clothes.

Susannah finished her unpacking. Then, taking the cell phone from her purse, she sat on the edge of the bed and punched the number that would dial her Seattle home.

Her son answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Brian.”

“Hey, Mom. How’s Grandma?”

“She’s fine. Is your father home yet?”

“Yeah. Chrissie’s here, too. We’ve already had a fight over who got to use the phone.” He lowered his voice and it sounded as if he’d cupped his hand around the mouthpiece. “Apparently she’s on the outs with Jason and she’s in one bitch of a mood.”

“Static,” Susannah said automatically. That was the term she used whenever her children or her students spoke in an unacceptable way. She’d picked up the habit as a fifth-grade teacher. Her kids might consider her old-fashioned, but she didn’t allow them to use foul language, insulting labels or bad grammar, and that wasn’t a rule she planned to change. She said the word static in order to give the child an opportunity to correct his or her mistake.

“One hell—heck of a mood,” Brian amended, “but she’s been a real you-know-what since she walked in the door.”

Susannah sighed. “Let me talk to your father.”

“All right.” She heard Brian shout in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “Dad! It’s Mom.”

“Mom.” Chrissie was on the phone first. “I thought you’d be here.”

“I’m sorry, Chrissie. Grandma needs me right now.”

“Well, I need you, too. You should’ve let me know.”

“I’m sorry you’re disappointed….”

“Dad isn’t any help.”

“Did you and Jason have a falling out?”

A half-second pause. “Brian told you?”

“Yes.” Susannah could imagine her daughter sending her brother a dirty look.

“How dare he!”

“Chrissie…”

“I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think—oh, I don’t know, but I’m afraid Jason’s interested in someone else.”

“Did you ask him?”

Chrissie hesitated. “Not directly. I probably should have. He hasn’t phoned yet and he said he would.”

“Chrissie, you just got home. Give him a chance.”

There was a lengthy silence and Susannah sighed again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I guess all you can do is wait and see.”

“You liked Jason, didn’t you?”

“Very much.” God willing, her daughter would one day marry a man like Jason. Not anytime soon, of course. “You’re upset now, but sleep on it and everything will look better in the morning.”

“I wish you were here,” Chrissie whined. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I love Grandma and I’d like to spend time with her, too.”

“I needed to get to Colville as quickly as possible.” Leave it to Chrissie to make her feel even guiltier. She was tired. School had drained her and nothing about her life felt right.

“Dad said I had to cook dinner,” Chrissie muttered. “He said that without you here, I’m supposed to take over meals.”

“I’m sure Dad would find that helpful.” And since her daughter wasn’t working, she could do something around the house, Susannah thought but didn’t say.

“He wants me to be his galley slave.”

“One meal a day, Chrissie, is hardly slave labor.”

“I had plans for tonight.”

Susannah didn’t want to get into an argument with her daughter. “Let me talk to your father.”

“All right, but tell him he’s being totally unreasonable.”

Susannah rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, grateful to have escaped her daughter’s theatrics. Half a minute later, Joe got on the phone.

“Hi,” he said. “How was the drive?”

“Great. I listened to music the entire way.”

“Did it help?”

His real question was whether she was still depressed. “I think it did,” she said without a lot of enthusiasm, “I’ll be okay in a week or so.” She prayed that was true.

For a moment it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her. “Do you intend to visit your father’s grave?”

“Why should I?”

“Susannah, don’t get all bent out of shape. It was just a question.”

“You know how I feel about him.”

“All right, fine.” He paused. “I still think you might find some answers in Colville.”

She bit her lip. “I might.” But the answers she needed weren’t to the questions he assumed.

“I hope you do, Suze.”

Susannah didn’t know how to respond to that. Telling Joe her mother was waiting, she ended the conversation and turned off her cell phone. When she glanced up, Vivian stood in the doorway, wearing her church hat and winter coat. “I found Carolyn’s phone number,” she said proudly, holding a small slip of paper.

“Mom, you don’t need your coat. It’s almost eighty degrees outside.” The temperature had flashed from the Colville State Bank as she’d driven through town.

“I don’t?”

“No. Where would you like to go for dinner?” Susannah asked, assisting her mother out of the heavy coat. She hadn’t changed her dress, and Susannah found her a light sweater to wear instead of the coat.

“Wherever you want, dear.”

“No, you decide, Mom.”

Her mother’s face fell. She seemed uncertain and a bit confused. “There’s always Benny’s Café, I suppose.”

“Would you rather go to Acorns?” she asked, knowing that was the place her father would have chosen.

Her mother’s smile was instantaneous. “I’ve always loved their oysters. No one in town does them better.”

“All right, Mom, that’s where we’ll go.”

“And when we get back, you’ll phone Carolyn.”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll phone Carolyn tonight.”

CHAPTER
5

Carolyn Bronson was thrilled to hear from Susannah Leary—no, Susannah Nelson. Naturally, she’d hoped Susannah would phone, but for reasons that were hard to explain, she hadn’t expected her to. It’d been years since they’d last talked, twenty-five years at least. Decades. Now as she drove into town to meet her, she peered through the windshield looking for the tavern the men from the mill frequented most. Less than a mile down the road from Bronson Mill, it was the only place she could think to suggest.

When Susannah called an hour ago, they’d had so much to say that it took nearly thirty minutes to get off the phone once they’d agreed on a place to meet. They had a lot of years to catch up on, and neither of them wanted to break the connection.

The tavern was on the road that led to Colville, where the old A & W drive-in had been when they were growing up. It’d been converted into a pub and it seemed as good a meeting place as any.

Carolyn thought it was a shame that she’d been back in Colville for over five years and this would be the first time she’d stepped foot in the most popular watering hole for miles around. Even driving below the speed limit, she nearly went past it. She smiled at the name of the tavern. He’s Not Here. That was actually pretty clever.

Although Carolyn had visited her parents often, she hadn’t looked up old friends. Her high school years had been spent in a boarding school in France, at her mother’s insistence. Carolyn feared she’d been a bitter disappointment to her delicate French mother. Brigitte had tried hard to teach her grace and charm and what she called the art of being a woman. But, while she’d scored top grades academically, Carolyn had failed to meet her mother’s expectations in all other respects, and took after her father’s side of the family. The lumberjack side.

She’d always been astonished that her parents had gotten together at all. They’d met in Europe during World War II and her mother had become a war bride. More than once Carolyn had wondered if her mother had ever regretted her choice of a husband, whether she’d resented being forced to live in Colville. Brigitte was like an exotic orchid stuck in a row of sturdy sunflowers.

There were plenty of spaces in the parking lot at the tavern. The light inside was dim and she wasn’t sure she’d recognize Susannah. Her own hair, still chestnut but streaked with gray, was even longer now than it had been when they were teenagers. She wore it pulled away from her face in a thick braid that fell haphazardly over one shoulder. She had on black jeans and a light summer jacket, which was what she generally wore to the mill. When necessary, she donned more feminine attire, but that wasn’t often.

She found a booth and slid onto the polished wooden bench to wait. Only a minute or two after she’d arrived, Susannah came through the door, saw her and immediately headed in her direction. Carolyn would have known her anywhere. Susannah hadn’t changed a bit. Oh, perhaps she was a few pounds heavier, but not many, and she wore her hair shorter these days. It was a shade or two darker, as well. She had on white linen pants and a teal sweater with large white flowers on the front.

Her childhood friend sat down across from her in the booth, facing the door. “My goodness, when did they get a Wal-Mart in Colville?”

Carolyn couldn’t remember. There’d been news of it coming for a year or two before the store was actually built. “I came back five years ago, and it was already here.”

“That long? Really? Funny, neither Mom or Dad said anything about it.” She dragged in a deep breath. “You look fabulous. It’s great to see you.”

“You, too.” Carolyn meant it. She’d always regretted that they’d lost contact. “How’s your mother?”

Susannah set her purse on the bench beside her. “I’m afraid she’s worse than I realized.”

“I’m sorry,” Carolyn said sympathetically.

Susannah leaned back against the hard wooden booth and sighed. “I took her to dinner, and half the time she thought I was my aunt Jean, who’s been dead for fifteen years.”

“Oh, no.”

Susannah laughed softly. “I didn’t mean to start talking about Mom. She’s a sweetheart, but ever since my dad died she’s been confused and—” As if catching herself doing it again, Susannah shook her head. “First, I want to know how we missed seeing each other all these years.”

Carolyn shrugged, unwilling to tread through time and examine the might-have-beens, especially those of the last few years. “I don’t know. I was so caught up in what was happening to my family, it was all I could do to deal with that. I moved back just before my father died. He’d been sick for quite a while, and the business had gone downhill.”

“I wondered about that.”

“When I took over, the mill was on the brink of going under. It’s taken every minute of every day to get back on track, so I haven’t done much socializing.”

“In other words, you’ve had no life.”

Carolyn nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”

“How’s the mill doing these days?” Susannah straightened, a smile on her face. “I have to tell you I’m very impressed that you’re running such an important business. I had no idea.”

“We’re solvent and growing.” Carolyn didn’t mean to brag, but the mill was thriving at a time when many others were shutting down. Investing wisely, making the most of foreign trade opportunities and her management skills had brought Bronson Mills from the verge of closing its doors to becoming a major player in the state.

“What about you?” Carolyn asked. “Were you in town a lot?”

Before her friend could answer, the waitress came for their order and they each asked for a Diet Coke.

Susannah waited until she’d left before answering. “I didn’t come to town very often—two or three times in the last five years. Until recently, Mom and Dad drove over to the coast to visit me. Dad died last November.”

Although Susannah mentioned her father’s passing without apparent emotion, Carolyn detected a small quaver in her friend’s voice. Her own father had been dead several years now, but she continued to feel his loss each and every day.

“You lost your mom, too, didn’t you?” Susannah asked.

“Mom died of cancer about two years ago,” Carolyn said, and while her death was equally painful, Carolyn felt that her mother was ready and, in fact, had welcomed death. Her life had been nothing like she’d dreamed, filled with disappointments and disillusionment. And without her husband, she lost whatever contentment she’d managed to find. Brigitte had not succeeded in making many friends or developing interests of her own; that was something Carolyn didn’t like to think about.

“Dad died of congestive heart failure,” she added. It was a horrible way to die. Carolyn was grateful she’d been with him those last months. They’d always been close, but they’d drawn even closer as the end of his life approached.

When Carolyn first returned to Colville, she’d assumed she’d be selling off the mill, but during the last months of her father’s life, she realized she couldn’t let go of her heritage. The mill had been in the family for three generations, and now it was hers. Owning Bronson Mills, she’d discovered, was even more of a responsibility than it was a privilege.

“I’m sorry,” Susannah murmured.

“Losing my dad was hard,” Carolyn admitted. “The two of us were tight. After I’d been here awhile, I began to feel that no matter where I lived, this town, this place, was my home.”

“Do you like it—running the mill, I mean?”

Carolyn smiled, embarrassed to admit the depth of her feelings about the family business. “I love it. I didn’t think I would. The only reason I got my MBA was to please Dad, but I promptly took a job in Oregon working with Techtronics. I enjoyed it and advanced to a management position. I’d just been offered another promotion when I got the call from Dad.”

“The call?”

Carolyn would never forget that phone conversation. “His whole life, Dad never asked a single thing of me.” Unlike her mother, who seemed to be consumed by demands, most of which Carolyn was incapable of fulfilling. “He asked me to come home. He needed me. I put in my notice the next day, packed up and headed for Colville.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and for a moment they were silent.

“I wish I knew how to help Mom,” Susannah said thoughtfully. “I know I’ll have to move her, but convincing her of that’s going to be hard.”

Carolyn didn’t envy her friend the task. “What are you planning to do with the house?”

“Once I know Mom’s comfortable, I’ll probably put it up for sale. Assisted living is expensive. I was shocked when I made a few phone calls and found out exactly how much it costs. Dad provided for Mom, but their largest asset is the equity they have in the house. There’s no question that I’ll have to sell it, and the sooner the better so I can invest the money.”

“What about taking her to Seattle, to a facility near you?” That seemed more logical to Carolyn.

“I wish I could get her to budge, but she refuses. Her friends are here—even though she hardly ever sees them—and things are familiar to her. Plus, the housing fees are more reasonable on this side of the mountains than in Seattle.”

“At least you still have your mother,” Carolyn reminded her. “When mine died, I had this gut-wrenching revelation that I was an orphan. All alone in the world. I was almost fifty years old and I kept thinking I wasn’t ready to be an adult. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Susannah said. “I feel the same way. I hate having to make decisions about my mother without Doug to talk to.” She swallowed visibly. “It’s not fair. My brother should be helping me with this. Doug should be here.”

Carolyn bent her head to hide her reaction to hearing his name. A twinge of pain passed through her. His death had hit her hard.

Susannah stared into the distance. “I miss him. My brother died thirty-two years ago, and I still miss him.” She lowered her eyes to her drink and swirled the straw around, clinking the ice cubes against the glass. “Doug and I should be dealing with this together.”

Carolyn didn’t want to talk about Doug. “You’re still married, aren’t you?” she asked. “That’s what your mother said when I ran into her.”

“Oh, yes…Joe and I have been together for almost twenty-five years. We have two kids, both nearly grown. Joe’s a dentist and I teach fifth grade.”

“I always thought you’d marry Jake.” As Carolyn recalled, her friend had pined for him the entire nine months she’d spent in France. She’d waited endlessly for his letters. In the beginning he’d written, but he’d stopped after the first few months. Then Doug had been killed and Susannah had gone into a deep depression.

A faraway look came over her friend. “I always believed I’d marry him, too….” She ended with a shrug. “He’d moved by the time I returned from France. I tried to find him but I never could. I wonder what happened to him—why he left and why he didn’t come back.”

Carolyn was furious with him for abandoning Susannah when she’d needed him most. She remembered how Susannah had asked around for him after their return. But he was gone; his family, too.

“My last time with Jake was horrible,” her friend continued, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I sneaked out of the house, and we met in my mother’s garden. We sat on that stone bench, behind the trellis. It was always so romantic there, and it smelled so lovely.” She raised her eyes to meet Carolyn’s. “Jake wanted me to run away with him and I didn’t have the courage to do it. I was only seventeen. I said no. In the morning my parents drove me to Spokane to catch a flight to France.”

“And you never heard from him again?”

“Other than those few letters after I left, nothing.”

Carolyn leaned closer. “You did the right thing. Can you imagine how you’d feel if your daughter eloped at that age?”

Susannah smiled. “That certainly puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? My daughter is as headstrong as I was and more than a handful. She’s almost twenty and insists she’s an adult, but she acts more like a teenager.”

Susannah brought out pictures of her children and showed them to Carolyn. Chrissie and Brian were very attractive, and so was Joe, Susannah’s husband, in a solid, appealing way. Although she’d never met him, Carolyn had a positive feeling about Joe—about all of Susannah’s family. She rarely admitted it, but she would’ve liked a husband and children of her own. It hadn’t happened. The divorce had devastated her, and she’d buried herself in her work in an effort to forget. Before she knew it, she was forty and then her father got ill.

Still, most of the time she didn’t mind being alone. Better that than marriage to a man like her ex-husband, whose repeated infidelity had undermined the little confidence she’d had. In fact, she was shy and always had been. She’d learned to overcompensate in other areas and was an effective manager. Few would guess how difficult it was for her to communicate with a man socially.

Susannah slipped the photos back inside her purse. When she glanced up, she seemed to study Carolyn, then said, “You look happy.”

Her friend’s assessment surprised Carolyn. But Susannah was right. Only recently she’d found herself singing as she dressed for work. The sound of her own voice had caught her off guard and she’d stopped abruptly, wondering what there was to be so excited about. She’d realized then that it wasn’t anything in particular. She was content and had become secure in herself. Yes, every now and then she entertained regrets, but she suspected everyone did. The business was running at a profit and that would have pleased her father beyond any of her other accomplishments. The mill was once again Colville’s main employer and as the mill went, so did the town. She had reason to be proud. The family business had given her a sense of purpose; it was in salvaging Bronson Mills that she’d truly forged her identity.

“What about you?” Carolyn asked, wondering about her friend’s marriage. “Are you happy?”

“Of course,” Susannah answered quickly, perhaps too quickly. She reached for her Coke. After a moment, she said, “The truth is, I’ve been depressed and out of sorts for the last few months. Joe says this all goes back to losing my father, but I disagree.” She glanced up. “I…” She hesitated, looking mildly embarrassed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Jake.”

“Really?” Carolyn watched her friend closely.

“It started a little over three months ago. I haven’t told anyone—I can’t. Not even Joe…Out of the blue, Jake came to me in this…this stupid dream. I can’t even tell you what it was about. From that moment on, he’s been on my mind almost constantly, and now he shows up in my dreams practically every night.”

Carolyn didn’t know what to say. “He’s probably married, don’t you think?”

Susannah nodded. “It’s flirting with danger, but I want to find him.”

“And do what?”

Susannah frowned. “I don’t know yet. Ask him, I guess, why he never wrote me after Doug died. Ask him why he moved and didn’t tell me where he’d gone. I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d run away with him that night.”

Nothing good was Carolyn’s guess, but presumably Susannah knew that.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard if he’s living in the area?” Susannah asked, her eyes alight with hope.

Carolyn didn’t. “No, but then I don’t know everyone in town.”

Susannah pushed the hair away from her forehead. “Like I said, I haven’t told Joe about this. I feel so guilty, as though I’ve been unfaithful, but I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t risk my marriage over this. I’m just curious, you know?” She looked nervously at Carolyn.

“And you want to find out what happened to Jake.”

Susannah slowly nodded. “Yes. I want him to be happy and to let him know that I am, too. I’m not interested in starting an affair.” She smiled. “As Erma Bombeck once said, I don’t have the underwear for it.”

Carolyn laughed.

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I have to tell you it feels good to discuss this crazy idea.” She paused, staring into the distance. “All I want is five minutes with Jake. Even a phone conversation would satisfy my curiosity. Is that so terrible?”

“No.” Carolyn understood, but although she didn’t say it, she agreed with Joe. Susannah’s discontent—apparent in this sudden urge to find her high school boyfriend—was somehow connected to her father, to his death. She knew that the relationship between Susannah and her father had been a difficult one; this was a huge loss in Susannah’s life, whether she accepted that or not.

Once more her friend made a circular motion with her straw setting her ice cubes clinking. “You were always the kind of friend I could talk to. I would never have made it through those last five months in France without you.”

“We were good friends,” Carolyn said simply, thinking Maybe we can be again.

The waitress came by and they ordered fresh drinks. “I should head back to Mom,” Susannah said reluctantly, “but I don’t want to leave. Talking to you has really helped. I don’t feel nearly as guilty or alone as I did earlier. Thank you for that.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be in town?” Carolyn asked. Her friends were few, and she had little life outside of the mill. She gardened, fed the deer that ventured on to her property, did a bit of needlepoint and worked fifty-or sixty-hour weeks. That was the sum total of her activities.

“I’ll be here for two or three weeks,” Susannah told her. “It all depends on how things go with Mom.”

The waitress returned with their Diet Cokes.

Carolyn picked up her drink. “If you get a chance, stop by the mill and I’ll give you the grand tour.” It would be fun to show her friend the improvements she’d made, even if Susannah didn’t understand their importance.

They talked for another fifteen minutes, and Susannah tested her French, which after all these years was surprisingly good. Carolyn remained fluently bilingual. Toward the end, Carolyn’s mother had spoken exclusively in her mother tongue.

“I remember that my conversational French improved according to how much wine I drank,” Susannah said, laughing.

Carolyn grinned. “Mom made me learn French as a child. I grew up speaking both languages.” She rarely used it now, but she certainly didn’t regret having the ability.

“Have you gone back to Paris since high school?” Susannah asked.

“A few times. My grandparents died in the war and I only had one aunt, who never married. My mother didn’t want me to lose my heritage and I’m grateful for the time I had there, but my life is in Colville.” Carolyn knew why her mother had insisted she study in France. She’d been hoping her daughter would meet a nice French boy and fall in love with him. Unfortunately, Brigitte hadn’t realized how closely the nuns watched over their charges at the boarding school. Any chance of meeting boys inside—or outside—those convent walls had been virtually nonexistent.

Susannah checked the time. “It’s nine o’clock. I’d better go. Mom’s probably waiting up for me.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I’ve made arrangements to take her to visit a couple of assisted-living facilities tomorrow.”

“She doesn’t know yet?”

Susannah shook her head. “I thought I’d broach the subject over dinner, but I couldn’t do it. Mom was so pleased to have me with her and so excited about going out to a restaurant, I didn’t have the heart to upset her.”

“She misses your father, doesn’t she?”

“Dreadfully. Which is understandable—they knew each other their entire lives. Mom’s completely at loose ends without him, but that’s not the worst of it.” Susannah shook her head. “As we were driving back to the house, Mom got very quiet. She said she had something important to tell me. She claimed that my father had come to her earlier this week.” Susannah closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Her neighbor had already told me about this. But to hear Mom describe it…”

“She’s missing him so much that her mind must be conjuring him up,” Carolyn suggested.

“That was my reaction at first, too, but then Mom told me he walked her home. This wasn’t some momentary visit, some trick of the mind. Her hand nearly left bruises on my arm, she was so adamant. My mother says she spent at least half an hour with my father.”

Shocked, Carolyn couldn’t come up with anything to say. Except that Mrs. Leary was obviously in bad shape, and Susannah already knew that.

CHAPTER
6

The next morning, Susannah walked through her mother’s garden, seeking a moment of peace. It was something she often did at home during the summer, wandering through her own garden, assessing the state of her flowers, inhaling their fragrance, making plans for the day. She noticed that Vivian’s plants and flowerbeds were in reasonably good condition—better than she’d expected.

Afterward, she returned to the house for coffee, hoping there’d be some milk or cream. She opened her mother’s refrigerator and was appalled at what she found. The cheese had grown moldy. A tomato had shriveled up and shrunk to half its original size. Containers filled with leftovers crammed the shelves, most of them several days, if not weeks, old. Along with that, Susannah saw a number of small tinfoil packages; she assumed these were bits of meat. She had no intention of finding out. Almost everything should’ve been discarded long ago.

The coffee perked in the old-fashioned pot behind her. Of course she hadn’t discovered the carton of milk she’d wanted but the door of the fridge held many small bottles and jars, some of them unopened. Just how many types of mustard could one woman accumulate? Susannah counted twelve different varieties—at least eight more than she’d seen during her visit in March.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” Vivian said, coming into the kitchen. She tied the sash of her housecoat around her waist. Susannah noticed that her mother had taken to shuffling her feet, as if her slippers were too heavy for her. She took tiny steps and looked so much older than she had even a few months ago.

“Good morning, Mom,” Susannah said cheerfully.

Her mother brought down a cup and saucer from the cupboard and set them next to the coffeepot. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well.”

Her mother nodded. “Do you need something?”

Susannah glanced back inside the refrigerator and remembered her father shouting at her as a kid to close the refrigerator door. “I was looking for milk,” she said.

“I have lots of milk.” Vivian seemed surprised that Susannah hadn’t found it. “I’m positive I got some just the other day.”

Susannah moved a number of plastic containers onto the counter and sure enough, an unopened milk carton rested at the back of the top shelf. Bringing it out, she placed it on the table and reached for her cup. The smell alerted her the moment she opened the milk. When she saw that the expiry date was over a month ago, she dumped the thick, lumpy liquid down the drain, running water to lessen the foul odor.

“What’s wrong with it?” Vivian asked.

“It’s gone bad.”

Her mother’s face twisted with displeasure. The narrowed eyes and pinched mouth was an expression Susannah remembered well from her childhood. It was the same frown she got when she’d misbehaved.

“I think we should take that carton back to Safeway and demand a refund. They sold me spoiled milk.”

“Now, Mom…”

“It’s just like those big chain stores to take advantage of a widow. Well, I won’t stand for it.”

“Mom, it’s too early in the morning to get upset. Drink your coffee and we’ll talk about it later.” Susannah figured it was pointless to explain that Vivian had bought the milk six or seven weeks ago and then forgotten all about it.

As her mother poured coffee from the sterling silver coffeepot, her hand trembled. Susannah had to bite her lip to keep from stepping forward and taking over. When Vivian finished, she sat down at the kitchen table, seeming rather pleased with herself. Susannah could only suppose it was because she’d managed without spilling a drop.

“I had a nice visit with Carolyn Bronson,” Susannah commented, as she joined her mother at the table.

“Who, dear?”

“Carolyn Bronson. Remember, you saw her recently and she gave you her phone number? We met last night at the pub where the old A & W used to be.”

“Oh, yes, of course. How are her parents?”

Susannah found this sporadic forgetfulness frustrating—and sad. But if she reminded Vivian that both Mr. and Mrs. Bronson had died, she might upset her. In any event, she had more pressing subjects to discuss. She decided to be intentionally vague. “I’m not sure, Mom.”

“Mrs. Bronson is a funny one.” She leaned closer to Susannah and lowered her voice. “She’s always putting on airs because she’s French.”

“Carolyn was one of my best friends all through school,” Susannah said mildly.

“I tried to be friendly,” her mother continued, ignoring her remark. “Went out of my way, in fact, but apparently I wasn’t good enough for the likes of Brigitte Bronson.”

“Carolyn sent you her best.”

“She was a sweet girl.” Vivian sipped her coffee and again Susannah noticed how her mother’s hand trembled as she lifted the cup. “Unlike her mother…”

Susannah didn’t want to get involved in a mean-spirited conversation about Brigitte, but she knew what Vivian meant. Although nothing was ever said, Susannah had always had the impression that Carolyn’s mother didn’t approve of their friendship. As an adult, she was able to analyze those feelings, understanding that Mrs. Bronson was a woman whose unhappiness made her cold and resentful.

Susannah waited until her mother had finished her first cup of coffee before she brought up the subject of assisted living. “You must be rambling around this house all by yourself,” she began casually.

Her mother stared at her. “Not at all.”

“Are you lonely?”

A soft smile turned up the edges of Vivian’s mouth. “I was until your father came back to see me.”

“Mom—” Susannah bit off words of protest. She was afraid that her mother had lost her grip on reality and grown comfortable in her fantasy world.

Vivian studied her as though waiting for Susannah to comment on her father’s visits.

“Actually, Mom,” Susannah said, gathering her resolve. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

“What is it?” her mother asked.

“Mom,” Susannah said, praying for the right words. “I’m concerned about you being here all alone, especially now that Martha’s quit.”

“Don’t be,” she said, calmly dismissing Susannah’s apprehensions. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Would you consider moving to Seattle?” That would solve so many problems, but even as Susannah asked she knew it was futile.

“And leave Colville?” Her mother appeared to mull it over, then shook her head. “I can’t. Much as I’d love to be closer to you and the grandchildren, I won’t leave my home.”

Susannah knew that change of any kind terrified Vivian.

“Doug and your father are buried here,” her mother went on.

“Mom—”

“My friends are close by.”

Most of whom were dead or dying, but Susannah couldn’t bring herself to mention it. “I’d be able to visit far more often,” she offered as enticement, hoping against hope that her mother would see the advantages of moving.

Vivian sipped her coffee and allowed the cup to linger at her lips a moment longer than usual, as if she was considering the prospect again. Slowly she shook her head. “I’m sorry, dear, but this is my home. Seattle is way too big a city for me. I’d be lost there.”

Susannah reached across the table and took her mother’s fragile hand. “That’s something else we need to discuss. Mom, I’m afraid this house is too much for you.”

“What do you mean?” An edge sharpened her voice.

“I worry about you here all alone, trying to cope with maintenance and—”

“Nonsense.”

“Who’ll shovel the sidewalk when it snows?”

“I’ll hire a neighborhood boy.”

“What would you do if a water pipe broke?”

“The pipes aren’t going to break, Susannah. Now stop being difficult.”

Susannah didn’t feel she was the one who was being difficult. The more she thought about the problems faced by an elderly person living alone—especially an elderly person losing her memory—the more worried she became.

“I don’t know why you’d want to come all the way from Seattle to talk such nonsense to me,” Vivian said in a querulous voice.

Susannah remembered what Mrs. Henderson had said about her attempt to discuss assisted living back in March. That had probably influenced today’s response—if Vivian even remembered the earlier conversation. Regardless, Susannah had hoped that by pointing out a number of practical issues, she could get Vivian to realize on her own the advantages of moving into an assisted-living complex. Clearly that approach wasn’t going to work.

“Mom, I think we need to sell the house.”

“What?” Vivian banged her cup against the saucer, her eyes wide. “For the last time, Susannah, I am not leaving my home. I am stunned that you would even suggest such a thing.”

“Mother—”

Without another word, Vivian stood, deposited her cup and saucer in the sink and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom, muttering as she left.

Susannah planted her elbows on the table, and cupped her ears with her hands. She closed her eyes, silently praying for wisdom. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but so far she was getting absolutely nowhere.

After Vivian had dressed, she came back into the kitchen. Ignoring Susannah, she collected a straw basket and clippers. The garden was in full bloom; irises and roses were two of Susannah’s favorites and they were in abundant display along the white picket fence. The lilacs were pruned and shapely, and their heady scent drifted through the open window.

Given her mother’s limited endurance, Susannah had been surprised to discover that the garden looked quite good, although the fence was a disaster. The paint had faded and one entire section tilted precariously. Her father would never have allowed that to go unfixed for more than a day. He was a stickler for order, at home and in the courtroom.

“I thought I’d clean out the refrigerator,” Susannah said, making a peace offering.

Vivian kept her shoulders stiff as she pulled on her gloves. “If that’s what you want to do, go right ahead.”

“Mom.” Susannah walked toward her. “We still need to talk.”

“Not about me moving. That subject is closed.”

“I need to make sure you’re safe and well.”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned all of a sudden. Besides, I’m getting stronger every day.” The back screen door slammed as Vivian walked out of the house.

Susannah sighed heavily. She didn’t want this to dissolve into a battle of wills between her and her mother.

It took her forty minutes to clean out the refrigerator. She discarded all the containers; the contents of some were impossible to determine. Among the identifiable remains, she found old tuna fish, green-tinged cottage cheese, rotting fruit and vegetables. Her mother saved every scrap and bit. Rather than leave this garbage to smell up the kitchen, she wrapped everything in plastic and carried it outside to the receptacle by the garage.

As she returned to the house, Susannah noticed that the shelves on the back porch were filled with dozens of senseless items. Her mother must’ve kept every plastic container she’d bought in the last six months. Piles of aluminum trays were neatly stacked, not for recycling, but for some future use. As a daughter of the Depression era, her mother tended to save everything, but it had never been this bad. Even empty toilet paper rolls were carefully piled up.

“Mom, what do you intend to do with all this stuff?” Susannah asked.

Her mother looked over from where she stood in her garden, a hose in one hand, and shrugged. “I’m saving it.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know yet.” She paused. “I never snooped around your house.”

“I’m not snooping. Everything’s out in plain sight.”

“Do I question what you save and don’t save?”

Susannah had to agree that she didn’t. She went back to the kitchen and wiped the counters. This wasn’t how she wanted the visit to go, but she couldn’t delay the inevitable, either.

“Would you like to ride down to the grocery store with me, Mom?” she asked when Vivian entered the house.

Vivian put one long-stem red rose in a vase and set it in the center of the table. “My lettuce is coming up nicely,” she said with satisfaction. “So are my herbs. Rosemary’s my favorite, you know.”

Susannah nodded. “Maybe we could take a drive around town when we’re finished our shopping.” She strived to make this sound like an enjoyable outing.

Vivian hesitated, as if she wasn’t quite ready to forgive her for their earlier argument. “That would be nice,” she finally agreed.

Together they drove to the Safeway. Vivian slipped her arm through Susannah’s as they crossed the parking lot and Susannah had the distinct feeling it was because she needed help maintaining her balance. This was also a silent message to let her know all was forgiven now.

They loaded the cart with food Susannah hoped would tempt her mother’s appetite. She bought macaroons, her mother’s favorite cookie. Asparagus, Ritz crackers and other treats Susannah knew her mother wouldn’t purchase for herself. She quietly put back a jar of Russian mustard Vivian had placed in the cart, but kept the olives.

They left the air-conditioned comfort of the store. The sun was out in full force and at ten o’clock it was nearly seventy-five degrees.

“It’s going to be a hot one today,” Susannah said as they transferred their groceries to the trunk of her car.

Her mother responded with a half smile. “I’m sorry, Susannah, but I wouldn’t do well in Seattle. I know you’re disappointed, but I can’t leave Colville. This is my home.”

A lump momentarily filled Susannah’s throat. “I know, Mom. I don’t want to take away your home. Please understand that I only want what’s best for you.”

“I’m the one who knows what’s best for me.”

“Of course you are. Assisted living doesn’t mean you’ll lose your independence. I—”

“Assisted living? Why bring that up?” Cutting her off, Vivian climbed inside the car and locked the door.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Susannah said under her breath. She finished unloading the groceries, closed her trunk and parked the cart.

Opening the driver’s side door, she slid into her vehicle. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look, would it?”

Her mother refused to answer.

“Mom, please don’t be so stubborn.”

Vivian turned her head away and gazed out the passenger window. In all her life Susannah had never seen her mother behave quite like this. Susannah had always viewed her mother as a subservient and obedient wife, the passive partner in that marriage. She couldn’t remember her mother going against her father’s dictates even once. Her father, the judge, ruled the home and his family. What he said was law.

Thinking about it now, Susannah marveled at the fact that, despite her father’s authoritarian ways, Vivian often managed to get what she wanted. The methods she employed were never direct. Vivian was a master manipulator, and that was clearer in retrospect than it had been at the time.

Now Susannah was compelled to be equally indirect. “I thought we’d go for a short drive,” she said pleasantly. She turned on the ignition and the air-conditioning kicked in, flooding the car with an influx of hot air until it gradually cooled.

Vivian remained quiet.

“You didn’t tell me there was a Wal-Mart in town,” Susannah said in conversational tones. “Want to go?” Her mother had always loved shopping.

“Oh.” Vivian smiled then and the tension eased from between Susannah’s shoulder blades.

Instead of going back to the house to drop off the groceries, Susannah detoured and drove past the first of the assisted-living facilities she’d contacted. It was a modern complex that resembled a nice hotel, with balconies and a fountain in front of the circular driveway.

Susannah didn’t say anything, but slowed as they drove past.

“You apparently don’t know your way home anymore,” her mother said, ice dripping from every word.

“Oh, I know where Chestnut Avenue is,” Susannah murmured. She shook her head. Vivian had never been to the assisted-living facility, but she knew exactly where it was located.

“I don’t want that milk to spoil.”

“It won’t.” Susannah turned and drove toward the house.

In less than five minutes, Susannah was unloading the car. She put the refrigerator items away and left the rest of the bags on the kitchen counter, afraid that if she delayed too long her mother might change her mind.

“You ready?” she asked.

“For what?” Her mother blinked as if confused.

“We’re going to Wal-Mart, remember?”

Vivian studied her, apparently not sure this was something that interested her.

Yeah, right, Susannah thought. She had trouble hiding a smile as the two of them went back to the car. The Wal-Mart parking lot was nearly full. This time her mother didn’t slide her arm through Susannah’s, but after a few steps she clasped Susannah’s elbow.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this many people since the Fourth of July parade,” Vivian said as the blue-vested store greeter steered a cart toward them.

“Payday at the mill,” the woman said, commenting on Vivian’s remark.

Carolyn was doing well this season, Susannah mused as she allowed her mother to push the cart. Having something to hold on to helped Vivian keep her balance.

They’d started down the first aisle when Susannah heard someone call her name. She turned to find a tall, slightly overweight woman watching her. It took a moment to realize who this was.

“Sandy? Sandy Thomas?”

“Susannah Leary?”

They broke out laughing at the same time. “My goodness, it’s years since I saw you.” Sandy’s eyes sparkled with unabashed delight.

Sandy had been a good friend, the kind of person who always saw things in a positive light. They’d kept in touch after graduation, and Susannah had served as a bridesmaid in Sandy’s wedding when she’d married Russell Giddings, the local pharmacist’s son.

“I didn’t know you lived in Colville,” Susannah said.

“Russ and I have been back for ages.”

Susannah smiled at Vivian. “You remember my mother, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Hello, Mrs. Leary.”

“Hello, dear. You were Susannah’s friend, right?”

Sandy nodded.

“My daughter’s trying to move me out of my home,” Vivian announced, loudly enough for several heads to turn in their direction.

“Mother!”

“Well, it’s true.” Vivian leaned against the cart. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“My mother’s living over at Altamira,” Sandy said. “And she loves it. She told me she was sorry she waited so long to move.”

Susannah smiled her gratitude.

Vivian crossed her arms in defiance. “I’m not leaving my home, and that’s all there is to it.”

Sandy shared a sympathetic look with Susannah. “Let’s get together soon,” she suggested.

Susannah shrugged, unsure what to tell her. Getting Vivian settled was her top priority. “I’d like to,” she began, “but…”

“I’m in the phone book, so call me.” Sandy squeezed her elbow, letting Susannah know she understood.

She would have welcomed the opportunity to visit with Sandy. They’d become friends after Carolyn was shipped off to boarding school. Sandy had been with her the night Jake had first asked her to dance.

A tingle of happiness went through her at the memory. They’d gone to a school function after the football game—a dance in the high school gym. Jake had been at the game, too, with Sharon, another girl from their class. He’d been talking to the players on the sidelines. Susannah had just started her junior year and Jake was a recent graduate. He worked at the mill and had stopped by the dance—without Sharon. Several of the senior girls flirted outrageously in hopes of getting his attention. Susannah thought he was the cutest boy in the universe, but she was convinced she didn’t have a chance with him. She was only sixteen; he was nineteen.

When Jake had crossed the gym floor and held out his hand to her, she’d nearly keeled over in a dead faint. He didn’t say a word as he drew her into his arms for a slow dance.

When the music faded, he’d looked into her eyes, smiled softly and touched her cheek with his index finger. Then, again without speaking, he walked away. If Sandy hadn’t come and collected her from the dance floor, Susannah figured she would’ve stood there like a statue with everyone dancing around her.

Oh, yes, Susannah definitely wanted to get together with Sandy. And not just because she’d have a chance to talk freely about Jake.

“This is a good price for—”

Her mother’s voice cut into Susannah’s musings. “It is,” she agreed automatically, although she didn’t have a clue what Vivian was talking about. Suddenly—impulsively—she faced her mother. Jake’s name hadn’t been mentioned in over thirty years and it was time for answers.

“Mom,” Susannah said. “Do you know whatever happened to Jake Presley?”

“Who?”

“Jake Presley, my boyfriend in high school.”

“He wasn’t that singer, was he?”

“No, Mom,” Susannah said. “That was Elvis.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “I’m asking about Jake Presley. He used to live in Colville, remember?”

Her mother considered the question. “What did his father do?”

“He worked at the mill.” Susannah strained her memory, but she couldn’t recall his first name. Jake had been an only child. His mother had run off when he was four or five and he lived with his father.

After a moment, Vivian shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t remember any Jake Presley.”

“That’s all right,” Susannah said and struggled to hide her disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother seemed genuinely apologetic.

“It’s all right, Mom,” she said again.

Only it wasn’t.

CHAPTER
7

Vivian had turned on the Food Channel, pen and pad on her lap as she wrote down recipe after recipe. Puzzled, Susannah watched her mother. As best as she could figure, Vivian hadn’t cooked a meal in months.

Susannah hadn’t brought up the subject of assisted living since this morning, but she was biding her time. Getting her mother to be reasonable would require some inventiveness.

“Mom, I’m going to call Joe and the kids,” she said, getting up from the sofa.

“Okay.” Her mother’s eyes didn’t waver from the television screen.

Susannah walked into the kitchen and picked up her cell phone, which she’d left on the table. She sat down and hit the first button on her speed-dial. Pressing the phone to her ear she waited. Three rings passed before Chrissie answered.

“Hi,” her daughter said, sounding more cheerful than she had in their last conversation.

“It’s Mom.”

“Oh.” Her voice flattened. “How’s Grandma?”

“Okay. What about you?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Don’t act so enthusiastic.”

“Dad’s making me cook dinner again,” Chrissie muttered. “He said I couldn’t make anything that came from a box.”

“Your father and I are trying to avoid processed foods as much as possible.”

“He wants me to create a menu for his approval. Can you believe it? I spent two hours in the kitchen this afternoon. This is my vacation, too, and now I’m stuck at home and bored out of my mind.”

Susannah didn’t remind Chrissie that if she had a job, none of this would be happening; she knew her words wouldn’t be appreciated any more than her advice would.

“I haven’t heard from Jason.” Her daughter’s depression and frustration were evident even over the phone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“No wonder he was so eager for me to go home. It’s just that—oh, never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Are you sure you’ve read the situation correctly? Why not just wait and see?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she fumed. Her daughter made a scoffing sound. “I knew something was wrong the minute he came to take me to the airport. A woman knows, Mom. Something happened between him and Katie, and I think it’s been going on for a while. I didn’t pick up on it until that day, and now I’m furious with him and Katie.”

Susannah had no idea what to say, so she added another lame, “Wait and see. It might not be as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yes, it is.” Chrissie groaned in derision. “The situation here isn’t helping, either.”

“What do you mean?” Susannah asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Chrissie repeated. “You’re with Grandma and I’m stuck here. Thanks a lot, Mom. Thanks a lot.” Having said that, she slammed down the phone and screamed for Joe.

A minute later her husband picked up the receiver. “Hi, Suze,” he said. “How’s Colville?”

“Growing. There are so many changes I can hardly keep track. I took Mom shopping and she practically bought out the shoe department at Wal-Mart.”

She heard his gentle amusement. “I wondered where you got your penchant for shoes.” Shoes had always been Susannah’s weakness.

“How’s it going with your mother?” he asked.

“Not good.” She described how her mother had embarrassed her in front of Sandy.

“She feels threatened,” Joe said. “You would, too, in similar circumstances.”

“Maybe, but…”

After spending an entire day with her mother and witnessing how easily she tired, Susannah was more concerned than ever. They’d had to stop frequently for breaks; once Vivian had even taken a brief nap on a pull-out sofa in the furniture department, with Susannah standing anxiously by.

“I don’t know how to handle this. The minute I bring up the subject of assisted living, she gets defensive and angry.”

“Did you mention the phone call from her neighbor?”

Susannah straightened. “No. But maybe if Mrs. Henderson and I both talked to her, Mom might listen.”

“She might think you’re ganging up on her, too.”

Her husband had a good point. “You’re right, she probably will. I’ll tell her about the phone call first and if I have to, I’ll bring in Mrs. Henderson.”

“Did you take her to tour any of the facilities?”

Susannah sighed in discouragement. She hadn’t even gotten close. “I drove past one, and Mom made some sarcastic remark about not knowing the way home.”

Joe chuckled. “She’s got quite a stubborn streak.”

“I don’t remember her being like this. My mother was the soul of tact and graciousness, and all of a sudden she’s—” Susannah didn’t finish. She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to look. To her horror, she found her mother in the hallway, listening in on her conversation. Lowering the phone, she whirled around. “Mom?”

With a sheepish look, her mother walked into the kitchen. Susannah didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, but suspected it had been quite a while.

“Joe,” Susannah breathed, shocked that her mother would stoop to eavesdropping. “My mother was standing in the hallway, listening to our conversation.”

“I’m not leaving my home,” Vivian said loudly, “and you can’t make me.”

“Susannah?” Joe’s voice rang in her ear.

“I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” She heard the drone of the disconnected line from her cell phone before she clicked it off.

“Mom, I think we should talk,” Susannah said, gesturing for Vivian to join her.

“Not if you’re going to say what I think you are.” Her mother started to back out of the kitchen.

“Aren’t you curious about why I drove over here earlier than I’d originally planned?”

Her mother hesitated. “A little.”

“Sit down, Mom.” Again Susannah motioned toward the other end of the table.

“I’ll miss my show.”

“The Food Channel runs the same episode in the morning, and before you say anything, it’s perfectly all right to watch television in the middle of the day.”

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