A Good Yarn
Page 8

“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 pot-lucks?”
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.
CHAPTER 6
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.