It was like music to Mrs. Shedd’s ears, and she looked a little less tense. “Bob wants to have us offer some of his treats,” I added. Bob was the barista at the bookstore café. He also made fresh baked goods. “The wonderful smell alone would act like a magnet.”
Mr. Royal arrived carrying a piece of poster board with a miniature version of the booth he’d constructed. He laid it on the table in front of us all, as more of our group arrived. We all leaned over and admired it. The two newcomers got up and walked to the head of the table to get a better view.
“It’s wonderful,” I said. It looked like a little store. There was even a sign across the front announcing the name of the bookstore in big letters. “There’s just one thing missing,” Adele said as she scribbled something on a piece of paper and tore off a strip. She attached it to the bookstore sign. It said: “Crochet Spoken Here.”
Mrs. Shedd seemed a little less worried when she saw the name of the bookstore prominently displayed. “A lot of the people coming to this show are local. We want to make them aware of us. Perhaps you can add something that mentions all the groups we have meeting here.”
I reassured Mrs. Shedd that with the Hookers helping we’d make sure the bookstore was well presented.
“I’m depending on you two,” Mrs. Shedd said, referring to me and Adele, but looking squarely at me. We were the bookstore employees, and no matter what help the others offered, the buck stopped with us, or actually, me.
I’d been hired as the event coordinator and community relations person, and Adele had been given the kids’ department as sort of a consolation prize, since she thought my job should have been hers. But somehow with one thing and another we’d ended up working as a team, putting on the crochet parties and now this booth. Adele balked at being left out of running the yarn department, but she’d cooked her own goose with her strong feelings about knitters. She didn’t even think we should have knitted swatches of the yarn we sold.
Yes, I knew how to knit. The basics, anyway. All those knitted swatches had been done by me. There was no way we could have a yarn department and shut out knitters, even if some yarn stores weren’t so happy with crocheters.
“No problem,” I said with a smile. “We’ve got it covered.” Mrs. Shedd muttered something about hoping so, because if this booth turned out to be a disaster she wasn’t sure what she would do. Then my boss left the area, saying there were things she had to take care of.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell her about the kits I’m going to sell,” Elise Belmont said. She’d extracted one from her bag and put it on the table. “If Mrs. Shedd had seen these, she wouldn’t have been so worried. We’re going a sell a million of them.” Then Elise caught herself. “Or at least the whole stock. Do you want to see all the different kinds?” she asked.
Elise was a small woman with wispy brown hair. She seemed a little vague until you knew her, and then it was obvious she had a steel core even if she did look like a good gust of wind could carry her off. The group shook their heads at her offer. We didn’t need to see the kits; we knew what they were.
I sometimes wondered what Elise’s husband, Logan Belmont, must have thought about her love affair with Anthony, the crocheting vampire. She’d read all the books, had seen the movie made from the first one countless times, and had even convinced CeeCee to get the film’s star to sign a life-size cutout. What did Logan Belmont think of having a full-size figure of Hugh Jackman staring at them as they slept?
The kit on the table was the first one she’d made for her vampire scarf. It had black-and-white stripes with a red tassel, or what she called traditional vampire colors. Get it? The white was for their pale, colorless skin, the black for their clothing choice, and the red—I’m guessing you can figure that one out. Her stitch of choice was the half double crochet, which she insisted looked like a fang.
Rhoda Klein rolled her eyes. She was a matter-of-fact sort of person with short brown hair and sensible clothes who couldn’t understand an imaginary affair with a literary bloodsucker. “I think Mrs. Shedd would be more interested in the free crochet lessons we’re going to offer.”
“Did I miss something?” Eduardo Linnares said as he joined us at the table. He was holding a garment bag and laid it on the chair next to him. “I brought what you asked for,” he said. Dinah suggested he show it to us. Eduardo had been a cover model until recently. He’d been on countless covers of romance novels dressed as pirates, wealthy tycoons, cowboys and assorted other hero types. The one thing all the pictures had in common was that his shirt always seemed to be unbuttoned down the front. When he started being cast as the pirate’s father and pushed into the background on the cover, he’d decided it was time to move on, and he’d bought an upscale drugstore in Encino. We were asking him to go back to the old days for the weekend.
He opened the garment bag and laid a pair of leather pants and a billowing white shirt on the table. We figured dressed in that outfit, he’d attract a lot of people—well, women—to our booth.
“Anything to help out,” he said. Like all of the Hookers, he was grateful to the bookstore for giving us a place to meet. He’d been a lonely crocheter until he’d found us. The plan was that he would teach his specialty. It was hard to believe, with his big hands, but he was a master with a small steel hook and thread. He’d learned Irish crochet, which was really lace, from his grandmother on his mother’s side.
Sheila Altman came in at the end. When she realized she’d missed everything, her brows immediately knit together and she started to go into panic mode. Somebody yelled to get her a hook and some yarn. Sheila was actually much better at managing her anxiety than she had been, but she still had relapses, and nothing calmed her better or faster than some crocheting. Adele made a length of chain stitches before handing it to Sheila, who immediately began to make single crochets across. She didn’t even look at the stitches or care that they were uneven; the point was just to do them and take some deep breaths. After a few minutes she sank into a chair. “That’s what I’m going to teach at the booth,” she said with a relieved sigh. “How to relax.”
We talked over our plan of action for a few minutes. Who was going to be in the booth when and what they were going to be doing. Sheila put down the crochet hook and took out a zippered plastic bag with a supply of yarn in greens, blues and lavender. “I thought I could sell kits, too, if it’s all right.” She showed off one of the kits, which included directions for a scarf.
Sheila was known for making shawls, blankets and scarves using combinations of those colors. Her pieces came out looking like Impressionist paintings. I told her it was fine, and it was agreed that the kits would be sold only when the two women were there to oversee them.
With everything settled, we all started working on our projects. The two new women asked if it was okay if they stayed, and we all agreed. Adele sucked in her breath when they took out knitting needles and began to cast on stitches with the yarn they’d just bought.
“Calm down,” I said to her. “None of us like the way knitters treat us like we’re the stepsisters of yarn craft. But we’d be just as bad if we treated knitters the same way.”
Adele started to protest but finally gave in and went back to working on a scarf made out of squares with different motifs.
Dinah moved closer to me. “You said there was something you wanted to talk about?”
I was hoping for a more private situation. Not that I had secrets from the rest of the group. One of the beauties about our group was that we shared our lives with each other. Good, bad, happy and sad. Still, I wasn’t quite ready to share my decision with all of them. Not until I saw how it worked out.
Before I could say this wasn’t the best place to talk, CeeCee interrupted. “We need to talk now.” She looked around and saw that Mrs. Shedd had gotten all the way to the front of the store. CeeCee moved in closer, making it clear what she was about to say was jus
t between us and probably some sort of problem. “When K.D. decided to bring crochet into the show, she asked my advice about who might teach classes, and I suggested Adele. All the knitting classes are taught by elite knitters who have written pattern books and traveled around doing workshops. She called them the knitterati.” CeeCee turned toward Adele. “She’s now found some master knitters who know how to crochet, and, to get to the point, K.D. has her doubts about having you teaching a class. And to be honest, there haven’t been a lot of people signing up to take the class.”
I watched the whole group suck in their breath and prepare for Adele’s reaction. As predicted, Adele seemed shocked and huffed and puffed that she was more qualified to teach the class than all the famous yarn people. CeeCee put up her hand to stop Adele. “The point is, K.D. would like you to give her a personal demonstration.” Before Adele could object, CeeCee added that it wasn’t a request, it was a command, and that K.D. would just get someone else to teach the class otherwise.
Adele absorbed the information and begrudgingly said she would do it. There was no way I was going to let Adele meet K.D. alone. Who knew what she would do? Adele actually seemed relieved when I suggested accompanying her.
“I’m going, too,” CeeCee said. “My reputation is at stake since I’m the crochet liaison for the show.” She looked from Adele to me. “Did I mention she’s expecting Adele tomorrow morning?”
Adele began to sputter about having to audition and the fact that she hadn’t been consulted about the meeting time, but CeeCee made it clear she had no choice, and we agreed to meet at the bookstore and go together. I was grateful there were a few minutes of peaceful yarn work before the group broke up.
As I got up from the table, Dinah linked arms with me.
“Now we can talk.”
Dinah and I took our conversation into the café. It was cozy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the buttery sweetness of freshly baked cookie bars. Most of the tables were full, but we found one by the window that was far enough from the others to afford some privacy.
There was a slight delay in placing our order while the barista, Bob, talked to me about what he was going to make for the yarn show. He offered several alternatives, and I finally left it up to his judgment. His lips lifted into a satisfied smile that made the dot of beard below more prominent. I know it was called a soul patch, but to me it looked like a mistake in shaving.
“I’ll pick up the treats on the way,” I said, and he assured me they would be packed up and ready to go.
Once we had our drinks—For me, a red eye and for Dinah, a café au lait—we settled in and Dinah looked me in the eye. “Well?”
Actually, this was the first time we’d had to really talk in a while. We’d both been busy, and we’d either been on the run or there’d been other people around.
Before the holidays, Dinah had been giving her students their final exams and grading their final projects. Her ex’s kids with his latest ex had come for the holidays. I knew it sounded crazy, but she’d gotten attached to the kids, and since neither of their parents were doing much of a job at being parents, the kids adored her. And then there was Dinah’s relationship with Commander Blaine. She was so used to guys who turned out to be jerks that she kept waiting for him to start acting like one. Only recently had she finally accepted that he was the nice guy he appeared to be.
After the holidays, she’d begun a new term and was teaching an additional class. It had gotten so that we’d only seen each other at the Hooker meet-ups at the bookstore, and those had been less frequent because of the holidays, too. Dinah had no idea of the turn my life had taken.
Before I told her my solution, I had to explain the problem. “My personal life has become flat, dull, quiet and boring. With everything going on with the bookstore, I didn’t notice at first. Do you know that we now have even more adult writers’ groups, a junior writers’ group, reading groups and even a cookbook lovers’ group. Then there are the crochet parties that we’ve been putting on almost every weekend, and finally the kids’ crochet group. I was so busy putting all those things together, and putting in all the extra time at the bookstore during the holidays, that it wasn’t until Samuel moved out that I noticed I was living the life I’d claimed I wanted.”
“Samuel moved out?” Dinah seemed surprised. “Molly, you should have called me,” she said. “I could have easily added some noise to your life.”
I quickly explained that Samuel had moved in with his girlfriend about a month ago. “It doesn’t matter now. Maybe it’s even a good thing because I have realized what I want, and more important, what I don’t want. All that stuff about wanting to try flying solo turned out to be nonsense. More than the commotion, I miss being with someone. When Barry and Mason were both around vying to be the man in my life, I took it for granted.”
Dinah leaned in closer, her eyes bright. “I sense that you’re going to do something,” she said.
“I’ve thought it over, and I definitely want a man in my life. What’s more, I know who now. I’ve decided to be proactive,” I said. “Of course, there is always the possibility that I’m too late.”
“Who is it? Who are you choosing?” Dinah asked, ignoring her drink. She knew that Barry had stepped away saying I’d be better off with Mason. Barry’s reasons for stepping back had been that his job was more than a job to him and that he’d always be off chasing leads and could never promise any kind of normal lifestyle. It had really touched my heart when he said that I deserved more than that. Barry’s lifestyle had been hard for me to deal with, but I also knew he needed me, and there was that chemistry between us.
“No matter what Barry said, I’m sure he’d forget it all if you called him and said you wanted to work something out,” Dinah said.
I shook my head. “No. I think Barry is right, that I would be happier with Mason,” I said.
Dinah’s eyes widened and she said, “Wow.”
“Mason is a great guy. How many times has he come through for me? I know he’d be there for a whole meal, not running out after the salad saying he had to track down a suspect. And he’s fun to be with. There aren’t always issues and he’s never let me down. We’re both looking for the same no-strings kind of relationship,” I said. “Or we were.”
“Then he doesn’t know that he won the Molly lottery yet?” Dinah said.
“It’s been months since I talked to him. Who knows where his head is—or his heart.” All my self-assurance drained out and I slumped. “What was I thinking?”
Dinah saw me wavering. “Just do it. Don’t think. Call him now.” Dinah pushed my cell phone toward me.
I picked up my BlackBerry reluctantly. “Okay, I’ll do it, but I’m calling his office. That way he’ll know it’s me.” I didn’t add that he could act accordingly, which meant he could choose to not take my call. I felt my heart thud a few times as I hit the call button and heard the phone begin to ring.
The receptionist answered with the law firm name. Mason was a partner, and I felt my breath catch when she got to his name in the title. I was really doing this.
When she finished, I asked to speak to Mason and she put me on hold. I was trying to think of something clever to say to Mason when she came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pink, Mr. Fields is out of town.” Then she offered to connect me to his voice mail. I mumbled a no and hung up.
I told Dinah the gist of the call. “Is he really out of town or is that just a polite way of saying he doesn’t want to talk to me?” I said. Dinah tried to reassure me, but I was sure she knew it could have been a brush-off. Mason was definitely a catch and probably had met someone else. Someone with more sense than I had who would grab him up.
Dinah had to get to class and I had to get back to work. I put my phone away and headed back into the bookstore.
“Pink,” Adele called out in a stage whisper
as I went past the entrance to the children’s area. She waved to me to come, while looking around the bookstore in a furtive manner. I had gotten so used to her calling me by my last name I didn’t even notice anymore.
“What’s up?” I asked, grateful to have my mind taken away from the call to Mason.
“You can’t tell Mrs. Shedd that K.D. Kirby is making me audition. Please,” she said with a worried look. “This is so embarrassing. It’s just another incident of knitters trying to put us crocheters in a corner.”
I didn’t agree that was the motivation. It made perfect sense that K.D. might have doubts about Adele’s teaching abilities. There were only a few crochet classes offered, and the other ones were all taught by people K.D. knew. The only thing Adele had going for her was CeeCee’s recommendation.
I assured Adele I wouldn’t tell our boss and said that I’d make up an excuse why we had to meet with the woman putting on the show.
After that, I spent the rest of my workday doing my regular work, like straightening up the yarn department and dealing with some hurt feelings in the poetry group. As had become my habit, I didn’t leave the bookstore until we closed.
I appreciated the greeting I got from Cosmo and the cats when I got home. The three of them were the welcoming committee waiting by the door. Blondie was asleep in her chair in my room and as usual had to be coaxed to go outside.
Everything was almost as I’d left it, except Cosmo had knocked over the trash and spread it all around. I cleaned it up and considered dinner. Now that I could have ice cream for dinner without anyone looking askance, I didn’t want it. Instead I pulled out one of the dinners for one I’d made up. I had taken to cooking a big pot of something and then dividing it into neat little portions that could be heated quickly. At the last minute I changed my mind and made some steamed broccoli, mashed a potato and microwaved a vegetarian sausage I’d gotten to like when Mason’s daughter was staying with me. She was a vegetarian and had introduced me to a bunch of new foods.
Knot Guilty Page 2
