A Good Yarn

by Debbie Macomber

  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.

  CHAPTER 21

  “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 wr
itten 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.”