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.
CHAPTER 47
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. B
ethanne 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 should
ers, “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.
CHAPTER 48
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.
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