by Anne Canadeo
A sweater was the obvious choice. At the rate she knitted, if she started in June it might be done by the time the cold weather hit. Things were going well, but you never could predict what would happen. They might not even be going out by the time she finished. How depressing would that be?
No, she just wasn’t ready for it.
Not that she didn’t have sweater-size feelings for him. But he wasn’t completely untangled from his marriage, and they both needed to take things slowly and carefully. Tiptoeing a bit, you could call it. Which is what gave her the idea to start with socks.
Phoebe was the queen of sock projects and her long and very happy relationship with Josh had been nourished entirely by her gifts to him of strikingly original footwear. But they were still socks. Not full-length overcoats, or knitted sports car covers, or cable-stitched two-man tents.
Socks were the way to go, Lucy coached herself as she headed down Main Street the next morning, tugging Tink away from an abandoned pizza crust and many other less appetizing finds on the Saturday morning sidewalk. As soon as she finished her blanket squares, she’d start with Matt’s feet and work her way … up.
No one had mentioned getting together for a recap of Gloria’s service, but as Lucy strolled up the path toward the Black Sheep at about half past nine, she had a feeling her friends would congregate there this morning.
The shop didn’t officially open until 11:00 on Saturday, but when she tied Tink’s leash to the porch rail, she noticed Suzanne’s huge SUV parked across the street and saw Dana heading up the walk with her red travel mug in hand, her knitting bag slung over her shoulder.
“I had a feeling I would see you here,” Dana greeted her.
“I’m whipping through my squares. I need some yarn.”
“I had a little break between appointments to hang out and visit.” Dana opened the door and let Lucy go in first. “Not that we need an excuse. We did miss our meeting on Thursday. Maybe we’re all suffering knitting group withdrawal.”
Lucy thought that might be true, especially after losing Gloria. It made her feel needier.
Even though they had all been at Gloria’s house to help Jamie prepare for the service and then attended it en mass, that wasn’t quite the same thing as their weekly get-together.
“We’re back here,” Maggie called from the back of the shop. “Suzanne beat you both,” she added.
“I can’t stay long,” Suzanne said, taking a big sip from her coffee. “I’m running an open house. I still have to put up more signs. It’s not even my listing, I just got stuck helping out. Not that I have any hot properties to push.”
Not with Gloria’s house taken off the table, Lucy thought.
“I wonder if Jamie will still want to sell,” she said instead.
“I was wondering the same thing, believe me. But it really seemed too rude and insensitive to ask. Even for me,” Suzanne admitted.
She liked to characterize herself as some tough-talking real estate babe, but Lucy knew Suzanne had no truly hard edges to speak of.
“Maybe he’ll bring it up before you have to,” Maggie said. She took out a project from her knitting bag, not one of the blanket squares, Lucy noticed. But Maggie was such a fast, skillful knitter, she could work on three projects simultaneously and still finish her seven squares with time to spare.
The project she’d taken out appeared to be almost done. Quite a pretty little camisole top knit with fine, silky pink yarn. Lucy guessed Maggie was making it for her daughter, who was in college and doing a summer internship at a TV station up in Portland.
Maybe she should skip Matt’s socks and try a camisole. He’d probably like that even better.
“That’s really pretty,” Lucy said, admiring Maggie’s work. “Is it for Julie?”
Maggie nodded. “She e-mailed me a rush order. I need to pop it in the mail on Monday.”
“Lucky girl to have a mother who can just whip this stuff out. Is the pattern hard?”
“Easy as pie,” Maggie promised, though she did say that about most projects. Then she turned to Suzanne, continuing their conversation about the house. “I wonder if Jamie’s name is on the deed. Or if the property has to go through probate,” she added, switching back to Suzanne’s topic of conversation.
“Oh geez … I didn’t even think of that. They haven’t been married very long. Maybe they didn’t have time to take care of all that legal stuff. Just my luck.” Suzanne sighed. “How long will that take?”
“It depends,” Dana replied. She had reached the top of the back section of the yellow vest and was just about done. “Gloria probably left a will, but her estate might be complicated. It could take a few months.”
“Something tells me I need to go to plan B for the orthodontist bills.”
“That might be a good idea,” Maggie agreed.
They heard Phoebe coming down the back stairway that led from her apartment into the storeroom. It sounded as if someone was with her, then Lucy realized she was just talking on the phone.
She appeared in the doorway, her cell phone pressed to her ear. “I don’t know yet,” Lucy heard her say. “I’ll call you back.” Then she shut the phone and stuck it in the pocket of her ragged denim shorts.
“Maggie? Do you need me here all day?” she asked, hanging on the doorway.
“I’m not sure. Why do you ask?” Maggie replied evenly.
“My friend Crystal is driving down to Cranes Beach. It’s so great out. Do you really think we’re going to be busy?”
Maggie glanced at her assistant over the edge of her glasses. “People knit all year long, Phoebe. Not just in the winter,” she reminded her. “But I guess you can have part of the day off. How about if you go to the beach now and come back by two? If it’s really a slow day, maybe I’ll go home and do some gardening and you can close up.”
“Deal,” Phoebe replied. She disappeared into the storeroom, humming happily.
“You’re a nice boss,” Suzanne complained. “I don’t think Mary Alice would let me skip work and go to the beach today,” she added, talking about the broker at Premier Properties.
Maggie shrugged. “Life is short, Suzanne. Maybe you should just jump the fence and go.”
“Now you sound like Gloria,” Lucy told her.
“Yes, I know.” Maggie sighed, binding off a row with a yarn-threaded needle. “Seems she was right.”
Lucy felt the conversation edging back to Gloria, but before anyone brought up the memorial service the bell above the shop door announced a new visitor. Jamie walked in.
He wore dark glasses that covered a good part of his face. Lucy could still see that he looked drawn and ashen. He hadn’t been getting much sleep, he’d told them. It was catching up with him.
“Jamie … come in. I didn’t expect to see you today,” Maggie said, greeting him warmly. “You must be exhausted.”
“Never felt so tired in my life.” He dropped into a chair next to Suzanne and let out a deep sigh. “I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t feel like hanging around the house …”
It felt so empty, Lucy guessed, especially after the crowd that filled it yesterday. Now that all the anticipation of the memorial was over, he must be feeling Gloria’s absence even more keenly.
“I brought you something.” He opened a recyclable grocery tote and took out three bakery boxes, then set them on the table. “Just some muffins and cake left over from yesterday. I thought you could put it out for the customers, you know, on the tea table.”
Maggie often had a table set up in the afternoon with coffee, tea, and pastry. In the summertime, she offered cold drinks like lemonade and iced tea. Another reason her customers loved visiting the shop and usually stayed longer than they’d expected to.
“Why wait for customers? You could put it out right now,” Suzanne hinted broadly. “All I had this morning was a tiny bowl of bran bits. Tasted like garden mulch soaked in skim milk.”
“Help yourself, please …” Maggie set some napkins on t
he table, then reached over and flipped open the lids on the boxes. A sweet, buttery scent quickly filled the air. “Oh, this stuff looks good. Thank you, Jamie. You didn’t have to bother.”
“It would have only gone to waste.” He sighed and sat back in his seat. “I had to come into town anyway, to see Martin Lewis, the attorney handling Gloria’s estate. He’s the executor. He wants to talk to me about the will and settling the estate. It’s all pretty … overwhelming,” he admitted.
“It must be,” Suzanne sympathized, picking out a muffin and placing it on a paper napkin. Lucy could tell she was itching to ask about the house, but didn’t want to seem ghoulish.
“Was there any insurance?” Maggie asked. She didn’t seem to feel any such inhibitions, Lucy noticed.
Jamie shrugged. “Gloria didn’t believe in it. She told me once that she’d never planned to get married again and she didn’t have any children, so she didn’t see the point. She had planned to leave all her money to charity … until we got married, I mean.”
Sounded like there was a will. Lucy wondered if Gloria had put Jamie’s name was on it. She hoped so. She didn’t know much about how these things worked, but that would probably make it easier for him and faster for the estate to be settled.
“I can see her reasoning,” Maggie replied.
“It doesn’t matter. I would have felt terrible getting money like that, because she died,” he confided in a quiet voice. “I mean … I never cared about what she had.”
“We know that, Jamie,” Dana assured him. But Lucy knew what Dana was also thinking: There were plenty of people in town who believed Jamie to be the complete opposite, that he had only married Gloria for her money and had unexpectedly lucked out with her unfortunate accident.
Edie Steiber, for one, was probably gloating and spreading that spin on the story right now, Lucy thought.
“I know sometimes, when a spouse passes away and the finances are all in a tangle, the survivor is really stuck until probate is completed,” Dana began in a concerned tone. “Are you okay, Jamie? Do you have enough to live on right now?”
“There’s a bank account with my name on it and some credit cards. I’ll be fine. For now, anyway.”
“That’s good to hear.” Dana sounded relieved and turned her attention back to her knitting. “I hope it goes smoothly.”
“If you need anything, anything at all, you must let us know,” Maggie made him promise. “At least she had a will … and how was that left? Had she changed it since you married?”
Lucy thought that question was a bit forward of Maggie, but she really wasn’t being nosy, just concerned. As they all were.
“Yes, she changed it when we came to live up here. This lawyer I’m going to see today, he said I’m the sole beneficiary.”
“What about the house? Is that part of the estate now?” Suzanne asked.
“I’m not sure. Gloria put my name on the deed … so I guess it’s not?” He shrugged again. “She really had a thing about it. She dragged me down to some lawyer’s office as soon as we came up here from Florida. I mean, I didn’t really care one way or the other if I owned the house with her.”
“She wanted to look out for you,” Dana said. “It was the responsible thing to do.”
As Lucy expected, Suzanne saw her opening and jumped in.
“I know it’s too soon to decide,” Suzanne began slowly, “but Gloria did sign an agreement with my firm. It would probably be best if we had something in writing from you to take the property off the market. I mean, if you don’t want to sell it anymore,” she quietly clarified.
Lucy didn’t bother to glance under the table, but she would have bet five bucks Suzanne had her fingers crossed.
“Oh, I still want to sell it,” he told her, sounding definite about something for the first time this morning. “I’m just not sure how that will work now; if I have to wait or whatever. This lawyer I’m meeting will probably tell me, right?”
“I’m sure he will,” Suzanne promised him.
“That’s one thing I do know. It’s hard to be there without her. I’ve even thought of moving into a hotel or something. But I don’t want to waste the money,” he confided. “I just miss her so much. Everything reminds me of her. It’s very … hard.”
“The next few weeks, and even months, are going to be very difficult for you,” Maggie warned him. “I went through it, too. I know how it feels. Just take it one day at a time. One hour at a time. Sooner or later, you’ll come out the other side.”
Jamie nodded as he looked down at his hands. “I still can’t believe it. That’s the problem. I keep expecting her to walk in a room. Or I go outside and think that she’ll be there, sitting by the pool on her chaise longue, knitting or reading a magazine. Sometimes I feel as if she’s right next to me. In the middle of the night. I feel like I can just reach out and touch her …”
He shook his head, as if to shake out the disturbing images. Then he leaned forward, covering his face with his hands.
The Black Sheep knitters sat silently. They exchanged glances, but Lucy could see that no one knew what to tell him. Not even Dana.
“I’m just wiped out,” he confessed, his face still covered. “It’s like some big wave crashed over me and slammed me down, and I can’t get up again. I can’t even get out of bed in the morning,” he confessed. “How am I going to take care of all this legal stuff? How am I going to have a show? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know when I’ll be able to paint again. Never, maybe …” he said bleakly.
“Jamie … slow down. Take a breath,” Dana consoled him. She reached out and rested a hand on his broad shoulder. “I’m sure you feel overwhelmed. That’s only natural. But you can’t make any big decisions right now. It’s much too soon. You have time to figure these things out. Just give it time.”
“Please don’t give up on your show, Jamie,” Maggie implored him. “Gloria wanted that so much for you. Dana’s right. Don’t even think about it right now. You’re in no state to make that decision.”
“Maybe I can help you with questions about the property and all that,” Suzanne offered.
Jamie swallowed hard and finally lifted his head up again. He took a deep shaky breath. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best. I mean it.”
Lucy’s heart went out to him. He was really suffering. She wished there was something more they could do, but she felt so helpless to ease his pain. She knew that all her friends felt the same.
The bell above the shop door sounded. Lucy turned and saw a young woman walk in. She didn’t seem to be a typical customer, dressed in an even edgier Goth girl style than Phoebe wore. Her outfit was solid black, cargo pants on the bottom and a T-shirt with the armholes cut off. A camouflage-print backpack was slung over one boney shoulder and her thin white arms provided a pale backdrop for several inky tattoos.
Even her long straight hair had been dyed a shade Lucy would call Deep Space Black, a ragged cut with dark eyes peeping out from under spiky bangs. A black cotton bandanna, imprinted with tiny pink skulls, was wrapped around her head like a headband.
She entered slowly and waved when she reached the middle of the shop, swinging her pack around and holding it protectively to her chest. “Is … a … Phoebe around?” she asked shyly.
“Oh, you must be her ride to the beach,” Maggie answered.
The girl smiled, looking relieved. “Right. I’m Crystal? Her friend?”
Question talker, Lucy realized. People who end practically every statement on a questioning note? Teenagers often talked that way, she’d noticed. Crystal was a bit past her teens, about Phoebe’s age, in her early twenties, Lucy would guess, but could remain a question talker for life.
“I think Phoebe went back upstairs to get her things. Have a seat, I’ll call her.” Maggie picked up the receiver from her portable phone, which she had on the table, and dialed the number of the apartment above.
The girl walked to the table with a purposeful stride, her eyes cast down. S
he hung her pack on the back of a seat near Dana and sat, still staring down, her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself invisible.
“Hi, Crystal.” Dana leaned toward her, making an effort to be friendly. “Are you a knitter?”
Crystal shook her head. “Phoebe says she’ll teach me? She does make some cool stuff.”
“Come back sometime. We’ll teach you. It’s very easy once you get the hang of it,” Maggie encouraged her.
Crystal replied with a head bob. “Sounds good. Maybe I will.”
“How do you know Phoebe?” Suzanne asked. “Do you go to school with her?”
Crystal offered another quick head bob. “We were in a class together spring semester? Modern poetry?”
Crystal seemed reluctant to make eye contact with anyone, her gaze fixed now on the tabletop. Lucy saw her glance dart to Jamie for an instant, but he seemed unaware of her, or anyone in the room, for that matter.
Jamie had been staring vacantly into space all this time, and most likely hadn’t heard a word of Crystal’s interview. Lost in his thoughts about Gloria and all the complications he faced in the wake of her death.
He suddenly checked his watch and rose from his chair. “I’d better go. I’m late for my appointment. Thanks again for listening.” His gaze swept around the table, touching each of them. “I appreciate it. Really.”
“Don’t be silly. Come here anytime. We’re always around. And call if you’re feeling down and want some company. Or just need to talk,” Maggie reminded him.
“I will,” Jamie promised. “I’ll see you later,” he said, then headed to the door.
After he left, the group was very quiet again. Crystal picked up a stray knitting needle and tapped it on the table, keeping time with some inner beat. Lucy noticed the toe of her shredded black Reebok joining in.
She had a lot of anxious energy, it seemed. No wonder she was so thin.
