The Knitting Diaries

by Debbie Macomber

  “Looks like he dug a hole under the fence.”

  “Baxter!” Ellen wailed. “We have to find Baxter.”

  Tim tried to soothe her plaintive cries as he hugged his daughter tight. “We will, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Don’t you worry, we’ll find him.”

  Four

  April 23

  Baxter’s missing! We have to find him. I want my Baxter.

  “We have to go after him!” Tim could hear the panic in Anne Marie’s voice. Ellen had run back outside, clutching the dog’s leash.

  “He couldn’t have gotten far,” Tim said. “You two go search for him and I’ll stay here in case he comes back.”

  Anne Marie seemed uncertain. Normally she liked to be in charge but she’d gone pale and was obviously as upset as Ellen.

  “Go,” he urged. “He’s got to be close by. He’s probably confused and can’t find his way back.”

  His own thoughts were tumbling over each other. Someone could easily take a dog as cute and friendly as Baxter. Or maybe he’d tried to return to the familiar territory of Blossom Street; Tim had heard of such things.

  Ellen herself felt that Blossom Street would always be her real home. The apartment represented safety and security to her and she couldn’t yet imagine feeling that way anywhere else.

  “Come with me,” Anne Marie said, decisive now as she reached for Ellen’s hand. “We’ll find Baxter.”

  “Of course you will,” Tim confirmed, hoping his words lent them both confidence.

  “He’s wearing the green sweater I knit him,” she whispered. “And his collar.”

  Anne Marie nodded. “Yes! And he has all his tags.”

  “That’ll make it easier to locate him,” Tim said. “People won’t forget seeing a cute dog wearing a green hand-knit sweater—plus he’s got ID. Just you wait. He’ll be home in no time.”

  While Anne Marie and Ellen scoured the neighborhood, Tim went inside the house. Baxter might have gone into one of the still-empty rooms and fallen asleep.

  He did a thorough walk-through of the house, checking every closet and behind every door.

  No Baxter.

  He returned to the backyard and once again walked all the way around. Still no Baxter. When he examined the hole beneath the fence, he found a piece of green fuzz. So, as he’d guessed, Baxter had slipped through that hole. He got a board from the garage and immediately blocked the escape route.

  When he’d finished, Tim started pacing. He regretted now that he hadn’t gone with Anne Marie and Ellen. He couldn’t tolerate this anxiety, and his fears, for Ellen in particular, tormented him.

  When his cell phone rang, he grabbed it so fast it nearly sprang out of his hands. Some quick juggling saved it from falling onto the lawn. “Hello,” he said loudly, certain it must be Anne Marie with news.

  “You sound mighty eager to hear from me.” Mel, and his tone was sardonic.

  Tim’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. “What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to disguise his dislike of the other man. Actually, Mel was all right, and in other circumstances they’d probably get along fine. But, in his opinion, the fiftysomething architect was too old for Anne Marie. Then again, she seemed to prefer older men; her husband, Robert, had been about the same age. This could all be a lost cause, he reminded himself, feeling even more discouraged.

  “I called to talk to you,” Mel told him.

  “How’d you get my number?” Tim demanded. “Why are you in such a bad mood?”

  Tim sighed; he was taking his frustration out on Mel. “Okay, I apologize. What’s the problem?”

  “No problem, and in answer to your question—”

  “What question?”

  “How I got your phone number.”

  “Yeah?”

  “From Anne Marie.”

  Anne Marie? That didn’t make sense.

  “A few weeks ago her battery was dead, and Ellen was with you, so she borrowed my phone. Your number’s on my call log.”

  “Okay.” He remembered the occasion, since Mel’s number had come up on his phone. “This isn’t a good time,” he said. “I’ll tell Anne Marie you called.” Maybe. Mel considered Tim competition, as well he should. And vice versa… Tim had ruined his chances with Anne Marie, but he was working hard to win her back, although that was difficult with Mel in the picture.

  “Is she around?” Mel asked, disregarding Tim’s comment.

  “No,” he said curtly. “Baxter’s missing.”

  Mel exhaled audibly. “Oh, great. I suppose Anne Marie and Ellen are in a real panic.”

  “They’re looking for him now. I’m waiting at the house in case Baxter comes back here.”

  “So you’re still there. I thought you would be,” he said cynically, “especially since I got delayed.”

  “Listen, I really don’t have time for this. Like I told you, Baxter’s lost and Anne Marie and Ellen are out looking for him.”

  “When did the dog go missing?”

  Tim glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes ago, maybe forty.” It felt much longer.

  “Who let him get out?” Mel asked in an accusatory voice, as if Tim was personally responsible for what had happened.

  “No one,” he snapped, allowing his irritation to show. “Baxter either dug a hole under the fence or found it there.”

  “Shouldn’t someone have been keeping a closer eye on him?”

  “Yes, probably, but the deed is done. There’s no point in looking for someone to blame.”

  “Poor Ellen,” Mel said kindly.

  Anne Marie wouldn’t take the loss of her pet lightly, either. Increasingly on edge, all Tim wanted was to get off the phone. “What can I do for you?” he asked brusquely. “I don’t want to tie up the line in case Anne Marie needs to get hold of me.” And why was Mel calling him in the first place?

  “It’s about Anne Marie,” Mel said, his voice serious.

  “What about her?” Tim could almost feel what was coming.

  “She’s dating me, not you. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, I understand, all right.” Tim didn’t even try to keep the derision out of his voice.

  “I know she had feelings for you at one time, but that’s over. I’m in the picture now.”

  “And you’re telling me this why?” What went on between him and Anne Marie was none of Mel’s business, nor was her relationship with Mel any of his.

  Tim started to pace the lawn once more, the phone still pressed to his ear.

  “I don’t like the fact that you hang around Anne Marie and Ellen so much.”

  “Fine, whatever. But you need to understand something, too, Mel. Ellen is my daughter and I have every intention of being part of her life. Nothing you say or do is going to change that.”

  “I have no objection to you being part of Ellen’s life.”

  “Big of you.” This time his words dripped with sarcasm.

  Mel disregarded his slight. “I just felt it was a good idea for the two of us to clear the air.”

  “The air is already clear,” Tim said. He clenched his fist at his side. “The only reason I see Anne Marie is because of Ellen. If it wasn’t for my daughter, I wouldn’t be anywhere near her.” In fact, if it wasn’t for Ellen, he wouldn’t even know Anne Marie.

  Just as he turned the corner of the house, he came to an abrupt halt as he almost walked straight into Anne Marie. One glance at her face, and he knew she’d heard every word of his last statement.

  “I have to go.” Not bothering to explain further, he snapped his cell phone shut.

  “Daddy! We found Baxter!” Ellen dashed toward him, clutching Baxter’s leash, the dog at her heels.

  Tim had been too unnerved to even notice them. Anne Marie held his gaze, her eyes narrowed and filled with—was that pain? He opened his mouth to speak and realized that anything he said now would only make matters worse.

  “Daddy, guess what?”

  “What?” he asked, without looking in his
daughter’s direction. His focus was on Anne Marie as she blinked rapidly, then turned and walked into the house.

  “I met a girl named April and she lives down the street. I met her at the flower shop. Baxter was with her.”

  Tim started toward the house, wanting to at least try to talk to Anne Marie.

  “April’s my age, too.”

  “That’s nice, sweetheart.”

  Ellen grabbed his shirt. “That’s not all.”

  “You mean there’s more?” Obviously excited, Ellen smiled up at him. Although his heart was racing with dread, he gave the girl his full attention.

  “She has a dog, too.”

  “Named Baxter?”

  “No, silly! Her name is Iris and she’s a Yorkie, just like Baxter.”

  “You have a new friend and so does Baxter,” he said, pleased for his daughter and worried about Anne Marie at the same time.

  “April wants me to teach her how to knit.”

  “That’s great. I need to talk to your mother now, all right?”

  “Okay. April’s going to ask her mother if she can come over and help me finish unpacking my bedroom. She likes books, too.”

  Tim hugged his daughter, grateful that she’d found a new friend. He hurried toward the house, leaping up the front steps. “Anne Marie?” he called when he didn’t see her.

  She came into the hallway, her arms crossed. “You don’t need to explain. You made it fairly evident that your only interest is in Ellen, and I accept that.”

  Tim shook his head. “Not true.”

  “Who was that, anyway? Vanessa?”

  “I haven’t seen Vanessa in months. We’re finished. It was Mel.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Why? Was he looking for you—or me?”

  “I told him I’d pass on the message that he phoned,” Tim said, skirting the truth but not lying, either. Not exactly.

  Tim struggled to find a way to tell Anne Marie that he cared for her as well as Ellen. He wanted to confess how foolish he’d been not to recognize his own feelings. Now that he had, it seemed too late.

  “Tim, listen, it’s okay,” she said. “Ellen loves you and you love her. I won’t stand between you. Our daughter is all that matters, and what goes on between the two of us isn’t important. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to unpack.”

  “Can I help?” He didn’t want to leave. In fact, he was willing to do just about anything to stay.

  “No.” She marched to the door and held it open for him. “Thank you for everything you did today. I appreciate it, but I want you to go now.”

  He nodded. Without further argument, he walked to the door—and then hesitated. “Can we talk about this?”

  “No.” Her denial was flat.

  He nodded again, although he wished he could explain that hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. Every time he was with Anne Marie, he realized how important she was to him. He’d learned a lot about life in his AA meetings, a lot about himself, too. He knew better, but he’d let his pride take over. Mel had gotten to him and he’d lashed back—with unintended consequences. Serious consequences.

  He had the distinct feeling that he’d just ruined whatever chance he might still have had with Anne Marie.

  Five

  April 25

  My friend Lydia Goetz once told me there are two kinds of knitters in the world. Those who find tangled yarn a challenge and will spend hours restoring it and those who’d rather throw out the whole thing than deal with the mess. I haven’t quite decided which type I am. What I will say is that I feel like my life’s a tangled mess but instead of knotted yarn it’s my emotions. I thought I was over Tim. Completely over him. I assumed nothing he said would have the power to hurt me. I was wrong. When I heard him say the only reason he had anything to do with me was because of Ellen I actually stopped breathing. I was incapable of drawing in air—it hurt that much. It still hurts, and that angers me even more. I have emotionally removed myself from him.

  Monday afternoon, Anne Marie walked back from the French Café where she’d had lunch. As she crossed the street she saw that Lydia was inside A Good Yarn. The shop was technically closed on Mondays, but Lydia was often there catching up on paperwork.

  What she needed, Anne Marie told herself, was a talk with a good friend, and there was no better friend than Lydia Goetz.

  Walking all the way through the bookstore, she came out in the alley behind the yarn shop. She knocked at the back door and a moment later, Lydia unlocked it, smiling when she saw Anne Marie.

  “Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Anne Marie realized she sounded wistful.

  Lydia’s shoulders relaxed. “I was just thinking that. Come on in.”

  Anne Marie followed her through the back of the store where boxes of yarn waited to be unpacked.

  “How did the move go?” Lydia asked.

  “So smoothly I could hardly believe it. I really appreciate Brad’s and the kids’ help.”

  “They loved it, especially Casey. She’s been moved from one family to the next all her life and never had more than a suitcase. She found it…interesting that two people could accumulate so much stuff.”

  Anne Marie groaned. “That’s not the end of it, either. I have an entire storage unit that still needs to be emptied.” The move to the apartment three years earlier was only meant to be temporary.

  While she was married to Robert, Anne Marie had left over a disagreement regarding children. She’d wanted a family and, as the father of a grown son and daughter, he hadn’t. When neither of them was willing to budge, they’d separated. To be fair to Robert, Anne Marie had agreed to no kids when she’d married him. Over the years, however, her feelings had changed.

  Unfortunately, Robert had remained adamant. No children. When they’d reached that impasse, she’d moved into the small apartment above the bookstore—her way of letting her husband know she was serious. She wanted a family. Children of her own.

  Then Robert had a heart attack and was gone, and with him, her dream of bearing a child. It was while she’d been dealing with her grief that she’d met several other widows; one Valentine’s night, they’d made those lists of twenty wishes.

  As one of her wishes—to do something for someone else—she’d volunteered at the local grade school and been paired with Ellen. Although she was doing well academically, Ellen had been extremely shy. Anne Marie became her “lunch buddy,” and that was how everything began, how both their lives had been transformed.

  Lydia filled the kettle and plugged it in, then reached for her knitting. “Well, I’m glad it all went well.”

  “Tim was a big help, too,” Anne Marie commented, mesmerized by the way her friend knit, gracefully weaving the yarn around the needles, creating what appeared to be a child’s sweater, one knit in the round from the top down.

  “I heard Tim was there, but Mel didn’t show up.”

  “He was with clients,” Anne Marie explained, wondering what her friend knew.

  “Casey likes Tim. She said his red truck was cool.”

  Anne Marie remembered how eager Casey had been to ride with Tim and Ellen on the way to the house. Tim had agreed, which thrilled Ellen, who admired the older girl.

  “We had a scare Saturday afternoon when Baxter went missing,” she said, “but it actually worked out well.”

  Lydia looked up in alarm. “Missing? You got him back, right?”

  The kettle whistled and she set aside her knitting.

  As she took two mugs from the cupboard and poured hot water over the tea bags, Anne Marie clarified her remark. “Ellen and I were out looking for Baxter and, yes, we did get him back—thank goodness. We also came across a flower shop and a bakery.”

  Lydia brought the tea to the small table, along with sugar and milk. “It sounds just like Blossom Street.”

  Anne Marie thanked her for the tea, added milk, then sat back. “Well, not exactly like Blossom Street, but close enough for Ellen to realize her new neighborhood i
sn’t so different from her old one. She made a new friend, too—the girl who actually found Baxter—and, as it happens, April has a dog. Another Yorkie.”

  “You couldn’t have arranged that more perfectly if you’d tried,” Lydia said with a smile.

  “I know.” Anne Marie stared down at her tea. “Anything new on Blossom Street?” Ellen wasn’t the only one who was going to miss living here. She’d still be working here, but—despite what she’d told Ellen—it wasn’t quite the same.

  “I saw Bethanne Hamlin on Saturday—and she had news.”

  “Oh? What?” Anne Marie sipped her tea. Bethanne frequented the yarn shop and was a good friend of both Lydia and Anne Marie. She ran a highly successful party business that she’d started shortly after her divorce and often visited the bookstore.

  “Bethanne told me that Andrew and Courtney Pulanski are engaged.”

  “That’s wonderful! When’s the wedding?”

  “Mid-July.”

  Anne Marie had never met Courtney, although she’d heard plenty about her. Bethanne’s son, Andrew, and Courtney had been dating for several years; they’d met in their senior year of high school, after Bethanne and Courtney had taken one of Lydia’s knitting classes.

  “Bethanne’s knitting Courtney a pair of beaded fingerless gloves for the wedding. I special-ordered the yarn,” Lydia told her. “Cashmere.”

  “She’s such an accomplished knitter,” Anne Marie added. “I’m sure the gloves will become a family heirloom.”

  “Me, too,” Lydia said.

  Anne Marie put down her cup. She searched for a way to broach the subject that had been weighing on her mind all weekend. She’d unpacked boxes late into the night on Saturday and fallen into bed exhausted. Tired though she was, she’d been unable to sleep.

  All thanks to Tim Carlsen.

  “Did anything else happen on Saturday?” Lydia asked after a moment of silence.

  “You could say that.”

  “Between you and Tim?”

  Anne Marie’s head shot up. “How’d you know that?”