Tim Carlsen.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. Throwing on her bathrobe, Anne Marie marched down the stairs to the bookstore. She switched off the alarm and turned on the lights as she went into her office, where she’d left the phone numbers Tim had given her.
She punched out his home number, her jaw tight and her teeth clenched.
His phone rang four times. She half expected a greeting to come on, inviting her to leave a message.
It didn’t.
Instead, a groggy Tim answered. “This better be good,” he said hoarsely.
“Tim?”
A short pause followed. “Anne Marie?”
“Yes,” she snapped.
“What time is it?”
Anne Marie hadn’t even checked. “Midnight,” she said, glancing at the store clock. She wasn’t about to apologize for phoning so late. He was the one who’d kept her up.
“Is Ellen all right?”
“Yes.”
“And you phoned because…”
“Because I’ve decided you can have Ellen’s DNA tested, but only under one condition.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Name it.”
“She can’t know.” That was Anne Marie’s stipulation and if Tim balked at that, it was over right then and there.
“Okay.”
She hadn’t expected him to agree so fast.
“When?” he asked.
“I…” Anne Marie hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Could we meet this weekend?”
“That’s the Fourth of July. We have plans.” It was the truth; she and Ellen would be with Melissa and her family for a barbecue.
“Okay,” he said. “Listen, anytime is fine. You say when and where, and I’ll be there.”
Without any deliberation, Anne Marie mentioned a nearby park and suggested they meet late Wednesday afternoon.
“I’ll be there,” he said again.
“What should I tell Ellen?” she asked, wondering how she’d introduce him.
“Tell her I’m your date,” he said after a moment.
“My date?” So he knew she was a widow. He’d implied as much when he’d asked about Ellen’s adoptive father and she’d refused to answer him.
“Have you got a better idea?”
“No…I guess not.”
“It’s settled, then?”
“Yes.” She wished she felt more comfortable with this, but she was committed now, whatever the outcome. “Not a word about the two of you possibly being related,” she warned.
“Not a word. You have my promise.”
Whether he kept his promises remained to be seen.
CHAPTER 15
When I was nine years old my mother gave me a pair of shiny silver aluminum knitting needles and a ball of bright purple yarn and showed me how to cast on for a pair of mittens. I can still remember my excitement as the yarn came alive in my fingers and turned itself magically from string into a lumpy mitten. I never dreamed then that knitting would become my friend, my refuge, my psychiatrist, sometimes my enemy, and ultimately lead to my career.
—Jean Leinhauser, Author, Designer, Publisher, Teacher
Lydia Goetz
My yarn store is closed on Mondays, which I reserve for appointments, meetings and housework. Margaret usually visits Mom on Mondays and I try to stop by on Wednesdays. We include her in weekend activities whenever possible.
That Monday morning began with the three of us at the breakfast table—Cody, Casey and me. They seemed to be getting along, I’d noticed, exchanging occasional comments with each other, often about Chase. Animals had a way of breaching people’s defenses, allowing them to connect. I’d seen that with Whiskers, too.
Cody was dressed for day camp and Casey had her books set out for her remedial math class. She never asked for help with homework, although both Brad and I had offered. Her streak of independence was as wide as the Columbia River. Most days I felt she simply tolerated us. Meanwhile, I was working hard to find common ground with her.
She made that difficult with her mood swings and generally negative attitude. My hope was that today’s visit with her brother—which she didn’t know about yet—would somehow make a difference.
“I’ll pick you up after class this morning,” I told her casually.
Casey looked up from her cereal bowl. “Why are you doing that?”
“I thought we’d go to lunch,” I said. I wanted to surprise her with the visit—but I didn’t want to disappoint her if it all fell through.
Casey frowned, as though she wasn’t pleased with the idea of joining me for lunch.
I’d discovered that her brother’s name was Lee Marshall and he’d recently turned eighteen.
For a minute I thought Casey was going to say something. I half expected her to insist she didn’t need any favors but she didn’t, which was a relief. I didn’t feel like arguing with her.
“Casey fixed my backpack,” Cody piped up. “The zipper was stuck and she got it to work.”
The girl shrugged, dismissing his appreciation. “No big deal.”
“Well, Cody’s grateful and so am I.”
“You could’ve done it just as well,” she said.
Cody had the same problem earlier and I’d had real difficulty getting the zipper unstuck. “Maybe I could have, and maybe not. But I didn’t have to worry about it because you already fixed it. Thank you, Casey.”
“Mom isn’t very strong,” Cody was quick to explain. “She had cancer, you know, and it’s hard for her to do some stuff.”
I bit my tongue to avoid contradicting Cody. My having had cancer had nothing to do with my ability to slide a zipper up or down.
“You had cancer?” Casey frowned as she looked at me.
“Twice,” Cody said importantly. “In her head.”
I made a feeble gesture with my hand, hoping to change the subject. So much of my life had revolved around my illness that I didn’t speak of it all that often these days. But since Casey was obviously curious, I felt I should explain. “I was first diagnosed as a teenager and then later as a young adult.”
“Are you going to die?”
This wasn’t a question most people asked, even if they wondered about it. Anyone who did persist couched the enquiry in more subtle terms, referring to my “prognosis” or “remission.”
“Everyone eventually dies, Casey. It’s part of the human condition.” I felt that was too philosophical, so I smiled. “But I’m hoping to live a good, long time and become a problem to my children.” I made that plural because of our hopes for adoption. Her concern touched me; I hadn’t expected it of her.
Casey nodded and returned to her cereal.
Casey and Cody left the house together and I tore into my weekly routine of housekeeping and laundry. I didn’t have any appointments other than the one at the juvenile facility in south Seattle early that afternoon.
The morning sped by and soon it was almost twelve and time to pick up Casey. She slid sullenly into the passenger seat and slammed the door, sitting there without a word for several minutes.
Then out of the blue she asked, “Do you want me to get my things first?”
“What things?” I glanced at her as I drove.
“My clothes and stuff.”
The question confused me. “For lunch?”
She looked directly at me, her eyes narrowed. “What about after lunch? You aren’t taking me back to Mrs. Boyle?”
“No.” I shook my head as I waited for a light.
A hint of a smile came to her, so fleeting that I thought I might have misread it.
“Did you think that’s what was happening?” I asked, shocked by her assumption. I probably should’ve mentioned my plan earlier and regretted that I hadn’t.
She didn’t answer.
“Actually, I wanted this to be a surprise, but I might as well tell you now,” I said.
I saw her stiffen, as though surprises of any kind were bad and something to be avo
ided.
“We’re on our way to the Kent Juvenile Facility so you can visit your brother.”
“Lee?” She jerked her neck to look at me with such speed I actually wondered if she’d dislocated it. “I get to see Lee?”
“I certainly hope so. I called Evelyn Boyle and she set it up for us.” Not without pulling a few strings, I suspected.
From that moment forward, Casey couldn’t sit still. Once I’d parked the car in the garage outside the facility, she nearly leaped out the passenger door.
Thankfully, everything went smoothly when I introduced Casey and myself. While the receptionist led her back to visit with her brother, I sat in the waiting area and took out my knitting. Because my little shop on Blossom Street had grown so busy, I found less and less time for my own projects. I knew I’d have a full hour to work on a sweater I was making for Cody. He’d chosen the colors himself—a dark green and brown that looked almost like camouflage when they were knit together. I’d have it finished before he started school.
I’d offered to knit a poncho for Casey but she’d rejected the idea. It’d hurt my feelings but I didn’t let her know that. I had a pattern that several teenage girls had made, and I’d been so sure she’d like one.
The hour passed quickly. I spent it knitting—making substantial progress—thinking over some plans for the store and daydreaming about a baby. When Casey reappeared, her eyes were shining and she hurried over to me.
I tucked my knitting in my bag and stood. “How’d it go?” I asked.
“Great! Just great.”
“Are you ready for lunch?”
“Yeah.” She seemed delighted that I’d remembered. “I’m starved.”
Since she was in such a good mood, I took a chance and placed my arm lightly around her shoulders. To my private satisfaction she didn’t shake it off.
We chose a small Mexican restaurant in downtown Kent and decided to eat outside on the patio. We both ordered cheese enchiladas with rice and beans, which happened to be the luncheon special.
“Lee’s doing really well,” Casey said, volunteering the information between bites of chips and salsa.
“Will he be out soon?” I was curious to learn why he’d been incarcerated but Evelyn hadn’t told me. Reading between the lines, I guessed it was for vandalism—probably not a first offense, either.
Casey scooped up more salsa. “He’ll be released this fall. There’s a new program through the state that helps foster kids with college expenses. Lee got his GED while he’s been here and he’s applied to take classes at Highline Community College this September. Oh, and he was really on my case about staying in school. I promised I would—and I will.”
“That’s wonderful.” I nodded vigorously. I wanted her to know how much I approved. “Does Lee have a place to live and a job for when he gets out?”
“That’s the best part. He’s going into a group home and they’ll help him find a job. Lee really wants to make it, you know? And I want him to, ’cause when he’s got a real address and everything, I can go live with him.”
“I’m so glad.”
“Only…only that might take a while.” She lowered her head. “I don’t think he wants to be stuck with his little sister too soon.” Her eyes dimmed slightly. “I can always hope it works out, though. Right?”
“Right,” I said. I hoped Lee managed to stay on the straight and narrow so Casey could join him in a home of their own.
“He might go in the army. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, but he said he’s considering it.”
In that case, she wouldn’t be able to live with him.
“When’s the last time you saw your brother?” I asked.
Casey paused, a chip half buried in the salsa. “I don’t remember. Two years ago, I think. He almost didn’t recognize me.”
“Two years?”
“We talk on the phone and stuff, but it’s hard….”
“The state couldn’t keep you together?”
She snickered. “They have enough trouble finding a home for one kid.”
I was completely naive about the foster care program. All I knew was that there was a desperate need for families willing to take in kids.
Our meals arrived, and we dug into our lunch with enthusiasm. To my astonishment Casey spoke nearly nonstop. Alix had been so right; reconnecting her with her brother had broken down a barrier between us. It was as if I’d suddenly become trustworthy in her eyes. For the first time since she’d come to stay with us, I heard about her parents.
“My mom and dad divorced when I was too young to remember my dad,” she said.
“What happened to your mom?” I asked when she didn’t immediately continue. I know I’d do whatever it took to make sure I kept Cody with me. My instincts toward our son were no less maternal than if I’d given birth to him myself. His mother, Brad’s ex-wife, drifted in and out of his life whenever the impulse struck her. Janice seemed to undergo periods of guilt, and then she’d want to spend time with Cody every week; after that, a month, sometimes two, would go by and we wouldn’t hear from her. Cody accepted whatever time Janice gave him, and never asked either Brad or me when he’d see his mother again.
“Did she die, Casey?” I asked, since Casey hadn’t replied. “Forgive me for bringing it up if the subject’s too painful.”
“No,” she said softly, slowly. “It’s okay. She died, but it was… later.”
She put aside her fork. “Mom got involved with this guy who used to slap her around. Lee tried to step in, but he beat Lee up, too.” She stared down at her plate as she spoke. “Then Martin started hitting me, and my teacher noticed the bruises and called Child Protective Services.”
“And they took you and your brother out of the home?”
Casey nodded. “The state said if Mom wanted to keep her children, Martin had to leave. But Mom loved Martin—and the things he bought her.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “You mean your mother chose a man who abused her and her kids?” It was appalling to me—beyond appalling—that any mother would abandon her own children.
“Mom said we should go live with our dad, only no one knew where he was. When the state couldn’t find him, Lee and I were put in foster homes.”
“Oh, Casey, I’m so sorry.” I reached across the table and clasped her arm.
“Hey, it’s no big deal.”
She began eating again, but I could tell it was more to get me to move my hand than from any interest in her meal.
“What happened to your mother after you and Lee were out of the house?”
She went rigid, the fork still in her hand. “I don’t know. She died about three years ago. I think it was from drugs. Martin was her supplier.”
“Oh, Casey.”
She shrugged as if it hadn’t affected her one way or the other, but no child could remain untouched by that kind of betrayal.
After lunch we drove back home. To my pleasure and surprise Casey wanted to bake cookies. After assembling all the ingredients, I let her work by herself while I folded laundry. Despite a small mishap, in which she set a kitchen towel on fire taking the cookie sheet out of the oven, she did a good job. As she dealt with the dishes I went into the other room to call Evelyn Boyle.
I told her that Brad, Cody and I had talked, and we’d arrived at a consensus—to let Casey stay with us until she’d finished her summer school program. I could hear the relief in Evelyn’s voice.
“Oh, thank you,” she breathed. “Casey’s doing so well with you and Brad.” Evelyn phoned Casey at least once a week. I wasn’t privy to the conversations and assumed the case worker knew better than I did how Casey was adjusting to our family.
The first real sign of improvement I’d seen had come that afternoon. Apparently we’d made an impact on the girl’s life, and that thrilled me.
While I had Evelyn on the phone, I asked her about Casey’s parents. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe what the girl had said, but I suspected pa
rts of her story were exaggerated. I was shocked to learn that everything Casey had told me was the truth.
“How’d the meeting between Casey and her brother go?” Evelyn asked.
“Very well. She seemed like a different person afterward.”
“That’s wonderful.” Evelyn’s voice rang with satisfaction. “You’ve made my day—no, make that my whole week.”
I figured she had plenty of weeks when nothing at all went right, so I felt especially pleased that I’d contributed to one of her better days.
“Does Casey know she’ll be with you until summer school is out?”
“Not yet.” Brad and I planned to tell her at dinner that night, when the whole family was together.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Evelyn said fervently.
I knew she’d been under tremendous pressure and that by volunteering, Brad and I had taken a load off her shoulders. The fact that Casey and Cody were now getting along made the decision easy.
That evening, as we sat around the dinner table, I gave Brad a meaningful look. He winked at me, understanding my signal that he should break the news to Casey.
“So, Casey,” he said as he passed the macaroni salad to Cody. “I hear you had an exciting afternoon.”
She nodded. “I saw my brother.”
Cody grinned from ear to ear. “Tell her, Dad.”
Casey glanced from one to the other. “Tell me what?”
“Mrs. Boyle asked if you could stay with us until you finished summer school. Your new foster home is in north Seattle, and rather than move you to another place so far from the school, we thought it’d be best if you stayed here.”
We all waited for Casey’s reaction.
“Okay,” she said.
Okay. That was it?
“Would you like to do that?” Brad asked. Like me, he’d anticipated some sort of reaction—something other than the bland response she’d given us.
“I guess so,” she said. I thought she sounded almost indifferent, and that stung a bit.
Somehow Brad and I managed to hide our disappointment until we climbed into bed that night. We both sat up, leaning against a pile of pillows, our books in our hands.
Summer on Blossom Street Page 14
