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“I looked on the shelf, but there doesn’t seem to be a copy.”
“They’re all rented,” Alix told him, staring at the computer screen. “Would you like me to recommend another movie along the same lines?”
He considered her offer, then shook his head. “No, thanks.” He put Catch Me If You Can on the counter and paid for the rental. Before she could think of anything to delay him, he was gone.
Laurel reappeared at the counter, John in tow. She had a hickey on her neck and her blouse was misbuttoned. Alix glared at John who glared back, and whispered something to Laurel. Alix couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could guess. Laurel shook her head adamantly.
John was out of the store a minute later but not soon enough to suit Alix.
“I’m meeting him after work,” Laurel informed her in a righteous tone. “He’s taking me to dinner.” Her eyes challenged Alix to say anything negative about John now, but Alix wasn’t taking the bait.
“He certainly seems to be in a good mood,” she muttered sarcastically.
“He is,” Laurel said. “He sold a car today and we’re going out to celebrate.”
“You might want to fix your blouse before you leave the store.”
“Oh,” Laurel said, looking down. Her fingers immediately went to work righting the last three buttons.
“Thanks.”
Alix shook her head, and lifted a tray of videos to return to the shelf.
“I probably won’t come back to the apartment tonight,” Laurel said, “so don’t wait up for me.”
As if Alix would. “I’m not your mother. Don’t worry about it.”
“My mother wouldn’t care anyway. She dumped me with my uncle when I was ten. My nasty uncle, if that tells you anything.”
Laurel’s home life hadn’t been any better than Alix’s. They’d met a year earlier when they were both living day to day, mostly in hotel rooms, and not the kind that came with small bottles of shampoo, either. When you’re pulling down minimum wage, you can’t afford first and last month’s rent. It’d taken Laurel and Alix six months to get into their current place. You’d have thought they’d moved into a castle when they found the apartment. Between them they could manage the rent, but with all the neighborhood renovation, Alix was afraid they’d soon be out on the street. Rumor had it the apartment complex had been sold to the same company that bought the old bank.
The apartment was a dump, with sagging floors, a permanently stained bathtub and cracks in the ceiling. But it was the first home Alix had ever considered truly hers. All the furniture was stuff even Goodwill wouldn’t take. She and Laurel had collected it piece by piece over the past few months, through word of mouth and a couple of times right off the street.
Neither girl was in contact with her parents. The last Alix had heard, her dad was living somewhere in California but she hadn’t seen him in ten years and frankly she didn’t feel she was missing much. He hadn’t made any effort to find her and she had no desire to seek him out. Her mother was doing time for forging checks. No one knew that, other than Laurel, whom she’d told in a moment of weakness. Alix had sent her mother several letters but when she wrote back, all she wanted was for Alix to send her money—or even worse, get her stuff she shouldn’t be asking for.
Alix’s only other family was her older brother, but Tom had gotten mixed up with a rough crowd and ended up dead of a drug overdose five years ago. His death had hit her hard. It still did. Tom was all she’d had and then he’d gone and … given up. When she first heard, she’d been angry, so angry that she’d wanted to kill him for doing this to her. The next thing she knew, she was huddled on the floor, wishing she was eight years old again and could hide in a closet and pretend her world was safe and secure.
Without Tom, she’d faltered, become reckless and got into trouble. It took her a while to find her way, but she had. These days Alix was determined not to make the same mistakes her brother had. She’d looked after herself from the age of sixteen. In her own opinion, she’d done a fairly good job of staying sober and sane. Sure, she’d butted heads with the boys in blue a few times and been assigned a social worker, but she was proud that she’d stayed out of serious trouble—and off welfare.
“You got a call this afternoon,” Laurel informed her just before closing. “I meant to tell you but it slipped my mind.”
They could afford an apartment but not a phone, so all contacts were made at the video store, which annoyed the manager. “Who’d be calling me?”
“Someone named Ms. O’Dell.”
The social worker had started coming around after the bogus drug bust. Alix had been caught with Laurel’s stash of marijuana. She still hadn’t forgiven Laurel for wasting money on it in the first place and, even worse, hiding it in Alix’s purse. She wasn’t the one using, but no one was willing to listen to her protests of innocence, so she’d shut up and accepted the black mark against her record.
“What did she want?” Alix asked, although Mrs. O’Dell was actually returning her call. Before Alix invested all that time, energy and money in knitting the baby blanket, she wanted to be sure the effort would count toward her community-service hours.
“She said it was fine and it might help you with anger management, whatever that means.”
“Oh.” At least the woman hadn’t actually mentioned the knitting class, which saved Alix from having to tell Laurel what she’d done.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
Alix narrowed her lips. “No.”
“We’re roommates, Alix. You can trust me.”
“Sure I can,” she snarled. “Just like I could trust you to tell the truth to the cops.” She wasn’t letting Laurel forget that she’d taken the fall for her.
“All right,” Laurel snapped and held up both hands. “Have it your way.”
That was exactly what Alix intended.
9
CHAPTER
“We are all knitted together. Knitting keeps me connected to all the women who have made my life so rich.”
—Ann Norling, designer LYDIA HOFFMAN
Although I’d taught knitting for a number of years, I’d never worked with such an eclectic group as the women in my small beginners’ class. They had absolutely nothing in common. The three of them sat stiffly at the table in the back of the store, not exchanging a word.
“Perhaps we should begin by introducing ourselves. Explain why you decided to join this class,” I said and motioned for Jacqueline to start. She was the one I worried about the most. Jacqueline was clearly part of the country-club set, and her initial reaction to Alix had been poorly disguised shock. From the look she cast me, I was afraid she was ready to make an excuse and bolt for the door. I’m not sure what prompted her to stay, but I’m grateful she did.
“Hello,” Jacqueline said in a well-modulated voice, nodding at the other two women who sat across from her. “My name is Jacqueline Donovan. My husband’s architectural firm is responsible for the Blossom Street renovation. I wanted to learn how to knit because I’m about to become a grandmother for the first time.”
Immediately Alix jerked her head up and stared at the older woman. “Your husband’s the one behind this whole mess? You tell him to keep his hands off my apartment, understand?”
“How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!”
The two women glared at one another. Alix was halfway out of her chair, and I had to admire Jacqueline, who didn’t so much as flinch. I quickly turned to Carol. “Would you mind going next?” I asked and my voice must have betrayed my nervousness.
I’d come to know Carol a little; she’d been in the shop twice already and had bought yarn. I knew why she’d joined the class and hoped we could be friends.
“Yes, hi,” Carol said, sounding as unsettled as I felt.
Alix continued to glare at Jacqueline but the older woman did a masterful job of ignoring her. I should have known something like this would happen, but felt powerless to stop it. Alix and Jacqueline were about as different as any two women could be.
“My name is Carol Girard and my husband and I are hoping for a child. I’m currently undergoing fertility treatments. I’m having an IVF attempt in July. The reason I’m in this class is that I want to knit a blanket for my yet-to-be-conceived baby.”
I could see from Alix’s face that she didn’t understand the term.
“IVF refers to in vitro fertilization,” Carol explained.
“I read a wonderful article about that in a recent issue of Newsweek magazine,” Jacqueline said. “It’s amazing what doctors can do these days.”
“Yes, there are quite a few miracle drugs available now, but thus far Doug and I haven’t received our miracle.”
The look of longing on Carol’s face was so intense, I yearned to put my hand on her shoulder.
“July is our last chance at the IVF process,” she added. Carol bit down on her lower lip and I wondered if she knew how much of her anxiety she revealed.
“What do they do to you with this in vitro stuff?” Alix asked, leaning forward. She seemed genuinely interested.
“It’s a rather long, drawn-out process,” Carol said. “I’m not sure you want me to take class time to go though it all.”
“Would you mind?” Alix asked, surprising me with her curiosity.
“By all means,” Jacqueline chimed in, but I doubted that her interest was as sincere as Alix’s seemed to be.
“Well,” Carol said, clasping her hands on the table, “it all starts with drugs.”
“Doesn’t everything?” Alix laughed at her own joke, but no one else joined in.
“I was on this drug that stimulates the ovaries to produce eggs, and once the eggs appeared, they had to be harvested.”
“Did it hurt?” Jacqueline asked.
“Only slightly, but all I had to do was think about a baby, and any discomfort was worth it. We both want to be parents so badly.”
That much was obvious, and from what I’d seen of Carol I was sure she’d be a wonderful mother.
“After the doctor collected Doug’s sperm, my eggs were inseminated to create a number of embryo cultures. These are then transferred to my uterus. We’ve had two attempts that didn’t succeed, and the insurance company will only pay for three and, well, it’s just very important that I get pregnant this time.”
“It seems to me you’re putting lots of stress on yourself,” Alix said in what I found to be an insightful comment.
“How nerve-racking for you both,” Jacqueline murmured.
“I feel so confident, though.” Carol positively beamed with it. “I’m not sure why, but for the first time in months I feel really good about all of this. We decided to wait after our last attempt. Mostly because Doug and I needed a while to deal with our disappointment over the second failure. I also felt it was necessary to prepare myself physically and mentally. But it’s going to work this time. I just know we’re going to have our baby.”
“I hope you do,” Alix said. “People who want children should have them.”
“There’s always adoption,” Jacqueline said. “Have you considered that?”
“We have,” Carol replied. “It’s a viable option, but we don’t want to try for adoption until we’ve done everything possible to have a biological child.”
“From what I understand, there’s quite a waiting period,” Jacqueline said and then seemed to regret speaking.
“Yes, I know … Doug and I have talked about that, too. We might have to look into an overseas adoption but we’ve read that those can be difficult. Anyway, these are all options we’re willing to consider if we can’t have our own child, but we’ll make those decisions when and if the time comes.”
I waited a moment and then gestured to Alix. “Tell us a little about yourself.”
Alix shrugged. “My name’s Alix Townsend and I work at the video store across the street.”
I hoped she wouldn’t mention working on the baby blanket to deduct hours from her court-ordered community service, but I couldn’t stop her if she did. Once Jacqueline heard that, I figured she’d probably walk right out of the class. Forgive me for being so mercenary, but Jacqueline would buy far more yarn than Alix ever could.
“I happen to like living in this neighborhood,” Alix said pointedly, “and I hope I can continue to live here once they’re through screwing up the street.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared across the table.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jacqueline muttered. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“I thought,” I said, still standing, “that we could discuss the different weights and types of yarn for our first lesson.” I felt an urgent need to distract Alix, although I was a strong supporter of the Linus Project. “The pattern I’ve chosen is one of my favorites. What I like about this particular pattern is that it’s challenging enough to keep you interested, but not so difficult as to discourage you. It’s done in a four-ply worsted weight yarn and knits up fairly quickly.”
I had a large wicker basket filled with samples of several worsted weight yarns in a variety of colors. “I know it might sound rather self-serving, but I feel I should mention something here. Always buy high-quality yarn. When you’re investing your time and effort in a project, you defeat yourself before you even start if you use bargain-basement yarn.”
“I agree one-hundred percent,” Jacqueline said firmly. I’d known she wouldn’t have a problem with that.
“What if some people can’t afford the high-priced stuff?” Alix demanded.
“Well, yes, that could make things difficult.”
“You said anyone taking the class gets a twenty-percent discount on yarn. Are you sticking to that or have you changed your mind?”
“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.
