Alice furrowed her brow. “Has anybody else from Timber Creek contacted you?”
“No,” I replied. “Why would they?”
“It would just really mean a lot if you could come by for a little bit,” Alice continued. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you or anything, but it would just be so nice.”
I sighed inwardly. But hadn’t this been what I’d secretly wanted? And anyway, Holly had paid for another night at the hotel. I’d hate for her to waste money. It wasn’t like I had a job or anything else pressing to get back to . . .
“Maeve?”
“What?” I broke out of my thoughts and looked over at Alice’s expectant face. “Oh, okay,” I said. “Yes. I’d love to go.”
“Wonderful!” Alice exclaimed. “You can follow me. I’m just parked over there.”
I followed her gaze to a slightly rusted 1980s model Volvo station wagon. What was left of the color was yellow, and the back bumper and back glass were absolutely filled with bumper stickers that said things like: “Knit Happens” and “Friends Don’t Let Friends Knit and Drive” and a picture of a ball of yarn with “I Like Big Balls” written underneath it.
When Alice caught me staring, she said, “Some people love politics or the fact that their kid is an honors student. Me? Well, I love to knit.”
“I can’t even sew,” I admitted.
Alice patted my arm and then headed off toward her car. “Don’t worry,” she called over her shoulder. “You can always learn.”
Annabelle
April 1984
I‘M NEVER GOING TO GET THIS,” ALICE SAID, EXASPERATED. She held up her naked knitting needles and made a cross with them. “Be gone, Satan!”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “You should have been paying attention in home ec, but you were too busy trying to figure out how you could stab Eileen Fisher with a knitting needle and get away with it.”
“You’d stab her too if she’d told everyone that you gave a blow job to Peter Mitchell in the sixth grade.”
Annabelle considered this. “It was eighth grade, right?”
Alice threw one of her needles at Annabelle. “You’re as bad as Eileen!”
“Look,” Annabelle said, bending down to pick up the discarded needle and handing it back to Alice. “It’s easy, I promise. You’ve just got to concentrate.”
“I don’t know how you can stand Mrs. Porter’s class,” Alice said, giving a halfhearted stab at the yarn. “All she cares about is preparing young ladies for marriage and the home.” Alice said the home as if she were a middle-aged British woman, which, of course, Mrs. Porter absolutely was. “How do you think she even got here?” Alice continued. “How do you get from one end of the earth to here?”
“The UK isn’t the end of the earth,” Annabelle replied. “Besides, I like her.”
Alice rolled her eyes. “That’s because you want to get married and have lots of fat babies with my brother.”
“Shhhhh!” Annabelle hissed, her eyes darting around the house. “And I do not.”
Alice laughed. “But you do want to have babies one day, don’t you? I overheard you telling Mom about it a couple nights ago. You said you wanted babies and your own KitchenAid mixer, whatever that is.”
Annabelle felt her cheeks redden. “Someday,” she said quietly. “I want a family someday.”
But her friend hadn’t heard her. “I did it!” Alice squealed. She held up a lopsided stitch, a precarious-looking thing, balanced on the protesting needles. “Look! You better tell Mrs. Porter about this tomorrow, because she won’t believe me.”
“I will,” Annabelle said with a grin. “But you’ll have to promise not to threaten anyone with your needles. Not even Eileen Fisher.”
Alice set the yarn and needles down carefully on the coffee table and placed her right hand over her heart. “I swear,” she said. “I won’t stab Eileen Fisher with my knitting needles.”
“Or anything else,” Annabelle prompted.
Alice removed her hand from her heart. “Now that,” she said, “is a promise I can’t keep.”
Chapter 8
I FOLLOWED ALICE UP A FEW STREETS UNTIL SHE PARKED IN front of an immaculately kept Victorian house. I hunched down in the front seat to get a better look through the driver’s-side window. There was a huge wraparound porch, more turrets than I could count, and colorful shingles. It was at least three stories tall. It was clear that whoever lived there had painstakingly restored it to its former glory, and it was truly a sight to behold. There were houses like this in Seattle, but I didn’t know anyone who lived in one. I felt more than a little bit intimidated. I imagined a little old lady with wire-rimmed glasses and a stern expression answering the door.
“Your mother’s house . . . uh, Annabelle’s house, is just right up the street,” Alice said when she caught me staring. “It’s smaller, though, as all the houses up that way are.”
I inwardly winced at Alice calling Annabelle my mother but kept my face blank and scanned the street. “Which one is it?” I asked.
“The one on the corner up there. At the intersection of Maple and Cherry.”
“I can’t see it,” I said, turning back.
“There will be time for all that,” she replied, ushering me inside.
Before I had a chance to ask her what she meant, I was greeted by a rush of warm air and the buzz of conversation, and then, as all eyes settled firmly on me, a quieter hum of whispers.
“Do they all know about me?” I asked Alice.
“Some of them,” Alice admitted. “And those who didn’t know before today will know now.” She looked up at me with her bird’s eyes and continued, “You look so much like her.”
I felt my cheeks warm and pretended it was from the heat of the house. A surly-looking teenager with lots of eyeliner and nearly black hair took my coat. She looked like she would rather be anywhere else, and I knew exactly how she felt.
“Thanks,” I said to her, jostling my arms out of my jacket.
“I like your boots,” I heard her mumble.
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “I got them at this great store in Seattle . . .”
“Thrash,” we both said at the same time.
“That’s my favorite store,” the teenager continued, pushing a mop of bangs out of her eyes. “But my dad thinks it’s cheap.”
“That’s half the fun,” I replied. “I got these on sale for like ten dollars.”
Alice, who’d been hanging up her own coat, said, “I see you’ve met Maxine. Maeve Stephens, this is Maxine Abbott. Her dad is Abel Abbott. He owns this house.”
“It’s Max,” the teenager said. “Nobody calls me Maxine except for you, Alice.”
Alice ignored Max and pulled her in, while Max protested, for a hug. “Go tell your dad we’re here,” she said.
Max rolled her eyes in the way only a teenager can and stomped off, leaving us to the throng of people. I looked around the house. All the accents were wood, all the way down to the rich mahogany floors. They shone. I wondered for a minute if maybe I got down close enough, I could see my reflection in them. When I looked back up again, Abel was standing there, his face unreadable.
“Abel,” Alice said, putting her hand on one of Abel’s arms, which was big enough to be someone else’s, some mere mortal’s, leg. “This is Maeve Stephens.”
I stuck out my hand instinctively, and Abel took it. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.
Without returning my greeting, Abel beckoned Alice and me to follow him. Now that we’d officially met, he didn’t seem quite as imposing as he had the night before at the bar or earlier this afternoon at the funeral. In fact, I found it quite amusing that such a bear of a man could live in a doll’s house like this. Still, I found it puzzling how he fit into Annabelle’s life. They had to have been pretty close if he was a pallbearer at her funeral and hosting the get-together afterward, but he was a famous writer, and Annabelle was, well, I didn’t know what she’d been, exactly, and once again, that
feeling of being an outsider crept over me.
As we waded farther into the vast living area, the whispers quieted, and everyone offered me a sympathetic smile. Actually, I realized, the smiles were for Alice. Some gazes slid over me, but many of them lingered, scrutinizing me before turning away, only to look back again seconds later.
“It’s because you look so much like Annabelle,” Alice said.
“This is awkward,” I replied. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
“Nonsense,” Alice said. “Come on, there are some people I want you to meet.”
Alice led me over to a sunroom just off the kitchen, where three women were sitting at a round white table. They looked up when they saw us enter.
“Ladies,” Alice said. “This is Maeve Stephens. Maeve, this is Eva, Florence, and Harriett.”
Eva was probably about forty and had short, spiky hair. She wore cat’s-eye glasses and an outfit straight out of the 1985 Sears catalog. It was the same woman I’d seen handing out programs at the funeral.
The second woman, Florence, looked about Alice’s age, although she looked like she came from another plane of existence entirely. Actually, she looked like she ought to be meditating or levitating or something. She was wearing a flowing dress and bangle bracelets, and her graying hair was wound into a loose braid down her back.
The third woman, Harriett, was ancient. I’d never seen so many wrinkles on a face. Her hair was long like Florence’s, but steel gray and twisted into a bun. She looked like one of those schoolmarms I’d seen on old television shows. But the smile she gave me was genuine, and I felt myself warm to her immediately.
“Welcome,” Harriett said. “Sit down, sit down.” She patted the chair between her and Florence.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Florence said. “Thank you for coming.”
I tried a smile out on my face, and it probably looked more strained than pleasant, but none of the women seemed to notice. “I’m thankful Alice called and told me, so I could make arrangements to be here,” I said.
“Maeve,” Alice said. “Aside from me, these women were Annabelle’s closest friends.”
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with that information, so I just kept up my plastic smile. It was starting to hurt my face, and so when Abel came over and put a glass of honey-colored beer in front of me, I thought I might cry with relief.
“Thanks,” I said. I put the glass up to my lips and took a long drink.
He gave me a half smile and moved on to a group of people calling his name from the living room.
“Can you believe he’s hosting this?” Eva whispered to no one in particular. “I can’t believe it.”
“He would have done anything for Annabelle,” Harriett replied. “Even if that meant opening up his home to the likes of you.”
“Were they close?” I asked.
Alice nodded. “Annabelle was good to him when his wife died. I think he’s trying to make it up to her, even now.”
I stared at the back of Abel’s head as it bobbed up and down, the tallest person in the crowd. He didn’t look especially uncomfortable to have so many people in his house. Of course, I didn’t know him, and he’d looked plenty brooding the night before at Three Sheets.
When he turned, he caught me staring at him, and I swiveled back around to the group of women. “So,” I said, trying to ignore the feeling of Abel’s eyes on the back of my head. “How did you all know Annabelle? Well, besides you, Alice. I already know you and Annabelle were friends.”
“Florence, Annabelle, and I worked at the pillow factory across town before it closed almost twenty years ago,” Alice said. “Harriett was our supervisor there, and Eva is her granddaughter.”
I nodded now that I understood the connection.
“There was a fire,” Eva said, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “That’s why the factory closed. Six people died.”
“That’s awful,” I replied.
“It was,” Harriett said. “I was less than two weeks from my retirement.” She lifted her dress to show two mottled legs. “I was severely burned, but I got out with my life.”
“And a lawsuit,” Eva said. “Granny sued the pants off the manufacturers of the faulty heating system that caused the fire.”
“Little comfort since I can’t wear anything but long skirts anymore,” Harriett replied. “I used to have great gams.”
“You live in a huge house with a gate around it. All that’s missing is a moat,” Florence replied. “And maybe a dragon.”
“You’ll have to come to our knitting club,” Harriet said, reaching her hand out to take one of mine. “We meet every single week. I own a knitting shop downtown. We could talk more there, you know, about your mother.”
“My birth mother,” I replied automatically. And then, feeling guilty for how I must’ve sounded, I said, “I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to come to your shop. I’m sorry.”
“We’d still love to have you,” Florence said, brushing right over my comment. “The ladies of St. Francis are always looking for a few good women.”
My ears perked up. “The ladies of St. Francis?” I asked.
Florence nodded. “Yes. We’re the ladies.” She pointed to the women around the table. “It’s our knitting club.”
“I thought you were some kind of cult,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
To my surprise, instead of being offended, the women burst out laughing.
“Oh, honey,” Florence said. “Thank you. I needed that laugh today.”
“This must be pretty strange for you, huh?” Eva asked me, adjusting her glasses. “I saw you when you first walked into the church, and you looked like you were going to turn around and run right back out.”
“I thought about it,” I answered honestly. “Like you said, this is all pretty weird.”
“Well, we’re glad you didn’t,” Harriett said, shooting Eva a look that clearly told her to shut up. “How long will you be here?”
I shrugged. “Just until tomorrow morning, I think,” I said. “Depending on how I feel, I might drive back to Seattle tonight.”
The women all exchanged glances.
“What?” I asked.
“You haven’t told her?” Eva asked, looking at Alice.
“Told me what?”
“I was waiting for Gary,” Alice replied, not looking at me. “Technically, that’s his job.”
“He’s never been able to do his job,” Harriett scoffed. “You should know that by now, Alice.”
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” I asked, standing up. “Who is Gary?”
“He’s a lawyer,” Eva replied.
“And he’s not a very good one,” Harriett cut in.
“Why do I need to talk to a lawyer?” I asked, panic rising in my throat.
Alice shot her friends a look that could have killed them and then turned her attention back to me. “It’s nothing like that, I promise,” she said. “It’s just that, well, Annabelle had a will, and you’re named in it.”
I sat back down. “I’m what?”
“You’re the sole beneficiary,” Eva said, matter-of-fact. “You get it all.”
“Shut up, Eva,” Harriett said. “This isn’t your business.”
Alice tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away from her. I’d had enough of being touched by strangers for one day. She put her hands palm down on the table instead and said, “Annabelle didn’t have much. But she did own a house and she had a little money in the bank. When she made out her will several years ago—we both did, after a woman we went to high school with died suddenly—Annabelle made sure that everything she might have would go to her only child, you.”
I inhaled sharply and then let the air out slowly, trying to calm my racing thoughts and racing pulse.
“I’m the executor of her estate,” Alice continued. “But I thought it would be best to wait for Gary, Annabelle’s lawyer, to speak to you in private, because I didn’t
want all of this information dumped on you at once.” She sent a meaningful look to her friends.
“I’m sorry,” Eva said, shrugging her shoulders. “Somebody had to tell her before she left town.”
“If you want,” Alice said gently, “I can go and find Gary right now. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”
I looked up at Alice, and try as I might, I couldn’t keep my feelings from bubbling to the surface. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You can find someone else or sell it or do whatever it is that people without a family do when they die, because I don’t want it.”
I stood up unsteadily and turned around, praying I could make it to the door and outside before I burst into tears.
Chapter 9
ONCE I GOT OUTSIDE, I DIDN’T CRY LIKE I THOUGHT I WAS going to. Instead I sat down on the curb and watched a one-eyed cat in a pink sweater cross the street all by itself, like it was something it did every single day, dressed in its Sunday best.
I didn’t even notice when Alice approached me from behind and nudged me with her cane. It wasn’t until she cleared her throat that I turned around.
“I can’t get all the way down there,” she said. “Why don’t you come up on the porch so we can talk.”
I stood up and followed her.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that,” she said once we were settled in two comfortable rocking chairs on the wraparound porch. “I should have had Gary call you before the funeral.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” I replied. “I don’t want anything of hers.”
“I know you must be angry at her,” Alice continued. “Giving you up the way she did. But she never forgot about you. She always loved you.”
“If she loved me so much, then why didn’t she want anything to do with me?” I asked. I knew it sounded petulant, but I couldn’t help it. I was angry.
“It had nothing to do with not wanting you,” Alice replied. “There were circumstances beyond her control, or even mine, that prevented her from keeping you.”
“What circumstances?” I asked.
Alice shrugged. “She had no family, you know. Her parents died when she was fourteen, and she was an only child. My parents took her in, but they didn’t have any money to speak of. She was a seventeen-year-old girl who was, for all practical purposes, alone in the world. She wanted better than that for you.”
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