Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

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      “I’m sticking to it,” I assured her.

      “Good, because I don’t have a lot of change jingling around in the bottom of my purse.” She reached for a pretty pink-and-white blend of wool and acrylic. “This costs how much?”

      “Five dollars a skein.”

      “For each one?” A horrified look came over her.

      I nodded.

      “How many would I need if I knit the blanket using this?”

      I glanced down at the pattern and then calculated the yardage of the worsted against the total amount of yarn required for the project. I grabbed my calculator. “It looks like five should do nicely. If you only use four you can return the fifth one to me for a full refund.”

      Alix stood and reached into her pocket and dragged out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “I can only buy one this week, but I should be able to pick up the second one next week, if that’s all right.”

      “It’s important to get the same dye lot for each project, so I’ll put aside what you need and you can pay me as you go.”

      Alix looked pleased. “That works for me. I suppose the lady married to that fancy architect can buy all the yarn in your shop.”

      “My name is Jacqueline and I’d prefer that you use it.”

      “I’d like you all to choose your yarn now, if you would,” I said quickly, cutting the two of them off before Alix leaped across the table and attacked Jacqueline. I hated to admit it, but the older woman wasn’t the most personable soul. Her attitude, although different, wasn’t any better than Alix’s.

      Jacqueline sat by herself and took up half the table. When Carol arrived, she’d had no choice but to sit next to Alix. It was clear from Jacqueline’s manner that she expected to be catered to, not only in this class, but in life.

      I couldn’t help wondering what I’d gotten myself into with these knitting classes, and frankly I was worried. I’d thought … I’d hoped to make friends with my customers, but this was starting off all wrong.

      The class lasted two hours and we barely got through casting on stitches. I chose the knitting on method, which is by far the simplest way to learn but not the preferred method. I didn’t want to overwhelm my three students during their first lesson.

      I had reason to doubt my teaching abilities by the end of the class. Carol picked up the technique immediately, but Alix was all fingers. Jacqueline didn’t take to it quickly, either. When at last it was closing time, my head was pounding with an approaching headache and I felt as if I’d run a marathon.

      It didn’t help that Margaret phoned just as I was getting ready to close for the day.

      “A Good Yarn,” I said, scooping up the receiver, hoping to sound upbeat and eager to be of service.

      “It’s me,” my sister returned in a crisp business tone. With a voice like that, she should be working for the Internal Revenue Service. “I thought we should discuss Mother’s Day.”

      She was right. Opening the store had so completely consumed me that I hadn’t remembered. “Of course, we need to do something special for Mom.” It would be our first Mother’s Day without Dad and I realized it was going to be difficult for all of us, but especially for Mom. Despite our differences, Margaret and I did something together every year to honor our mother.

      “The girls suggested we take her to lunch on Saturday. We’re seeing Matt’s mother on Sunday.”

      “Excellent idea, but my shop is open on Saturdays.” I knew Saturday was a prime business day and I couldn’t afford not to be open; I closed the shop on Mondays instead.

      My sister hesitated and when she spoke again, she seemed almost gleeful. It didn’t take me long to discover why.

      “Since you can’t get away, the girls and I will see Mom on Saturday and you can have your own time with her on Sunday.” This meant Margaret wouldn’t have to share our mother with me. Mom’s attention would be on my sister, which was clearly why Margaret had arranged things this way. I didn’t understand why everything had to be a competition for her.

      “Oh.” I’d hoped we’d all be together.

      “You’re not working on Sunday, are you?”

      My shoulders sagged. “No, but … well, if that’s what you want.”

      “I don’t have any choice, do I?” Margaret said in the surly, aggressive tone I have long detested. “You’re the one who can’t make lunch on Saturday. I suppose you want me to adjust my schedule to yours, but I won’t.”

      “I didn’t ask you to change anything.”

      “Not in so many words, but I could read between the lines. I do have a husband, you know, and he has a mother, too. For once we wanted to spend Mother’s Day with her.”

      Rather than get into an argument, I kept my voice as unemotional as possible. “Perhaps we could compromise.”

      “How do you mean?”

      “I know Mom would love to have lunch on the waterfront. I could meet you there and close the shop for a couple of hours. That way we could all be together and then I’d join her on Sunday, as well.”

      I could tell from the lengthy pause that Margaret wasn’t happy with that idea. “You expect me to pick up Mom and drive into Seattle on a Saturday afternoon—because it’s more convenient for you? We both know how dreadful the traffic is.”

      “It’s only a suggestion.”

      “I’d rather we celebrated Mother’s Day separately this year.”

      “Fine. Perhaps we should.” I left it at that and made a mental note to call Mom to explain.

      “Good. We’ve got that settled.” I noticed that Margaret didn’t ask about my first two weeks of business. Nor did she make any other inquiries or give me an opportunity to ask what was going on in her life.

      “I have to go,” Margaret said. “Julia’s dancing class starts in fifteen minutes.”

      “Give her my love,” I said. My two nieces were a joy to me. I loved them deeply and felt close to both Julia and Hailey. Sensing my feelings, Margaret did her best to keep the girls away from me. But now that they were preteens, they had minds of their own. We often chatted and I suspected they didn’t let their mother know.

      My sister hung up without so much as a goodbye. That was typical behavior for Margaret.

      I walked over to the front door and turned over the sign to read Closed. As I did, I saw Brad Goetz coming out of the apartment building where Alix lived. He was in a hurry, half-jogging to his truck. I couldn’t see where he’d parked, but I thought I knew the reason for his rush. He was handsome and eligible, and there was every likelihood he had a Friday-night date.

      I could’ve been the one joining him for dinner—only I wasn’t. That had been my own СКАЧАТЬ