The Knitting Diaries

by Debbie Macomber

  “Thank you,” she said when he’d driven her home, “for a lovely, lovely evening.” Mel’s arm was around her shoulders.

  A sense of dread settled over her, dissipating her pleasure and her serenity, when she saw Tim’s car parked out front. She felt Mel stiffen.

  “I’d forgotten Tim had Ellen for the night,” he said.

  Anne Marie merely nodded, and Mel, apparently, had nothing more to say on the subject of Tim.

  He escorted Anne Marie to the front door, but to her disappointment didn’t seem eager to stay. “Coffee?” she suggested, hoping he’d accept…yet hoping he wouldn’t.

  “No, but I’ll see you in.”

  Anne Marie wasn’t fooled. Mel didn’t want to abandon her to Tim and frankly she was just as glad. If she was alone with Tim they might start talking again. They might kiss again, and if they did, she’d be lost….

  Tim came to the door, almost as if he’d been waiting for her, longing for her return. He smiled—until he saw Mel. He looked away, immediately removing his jacket from the hall closet.

  “Welcome home,” he said as he pushed his arms through the sleeves.

  “Thank you. How did everything go with Ellen?”

  “We had a great time.” Tim nodded once in Mel’s direction. “Good to see you, Mel.”

  “You, too, Tim.”

  Both men were being polite in the extreme.

  Without another word, Tim let himself out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Nine

  April 29

  None of my plans for dealing with Tim have panned out. In fact, everything seems to have backfired. I resolved to put him completely out of my mind, but all I do is think about him…and about the possibility of him, Ellen and me together. I know how foolish that is, but I can’t make myself stop. It’s definitely time to pay Lydia a visit and start a new project. If ever I needed a distraction, it’s now. I wonder if doctors realize how therapeutic yarn can be….

  Not surprisingly, Anne Marie spent a sleepless night. On Saturday she was scheduled to work half a day at the bookstore. Ellen accompanied her, planning to visit her friends along Blossom Street—Lydia and Alix and Susannah and others—with Baxter in tow.

  As they drove into town that morning, Anne Marie lost count of the number of references Ellen made to her evening with Tim, especially the Thai dinner they ate in a booth where they had to take off their shoes. The movie afterward had been the latest 3-D animation and Ellen described the plot to her no less than five times.

  “Lydia said we should stop by A Good Yarn when you’re finished working.” Ellen hurried into the bookstore just before noon, Baxter bouncing beside her. “We can go there, can’t we?”

  “Yes, I was planning to.” Anne Marie hoped to have another chat with her friend; Saturdays were often the busiest day of the week, however, and that might not work out. “I thought I’d pick up some yarn for my new project.”

  “Which project? The wedding one?” Knitting had become a bond, a subject of common interest between them, and Ellen almost always knit something right along with her.

  “Yes, I was thinking I could knit Courtney something.”

  “What about a veil?” Ellen said.

  That project was a lot more daunting than Anne Marie wanted to tackle. “She probably already has her veil. But Lydia gave me a pattern book and I found a bride’s purse I liked. I’d use a cotton yarn with some metallic threads shot through it.”

  “A bride’s purse?” Ellen repeated, her eyes glowing. “That sounds pretty.”

  “It would have a drawstring and hang from her arm. Courtney could use it on her wedding day.”

  As she’d expected, Lydia was busy with customers when Ellen and Anne Marie entered the shop. A large table was set up in the back, with pattern books stacked close by. The table was used for classes, too. Everyone who visited the shop seemed to gravitate to this natural meeting place.

  Anne Marie chose another pattern book, one devoted to weddings, then pulled out a chair and sat down. She flipped through several pages until she located another bride’s purse. She decided she preferred this one, but wanted Lydia’s opinion—and Ellen’s.

  Ellen was at the front of the store petting Whiskers. Baxter and Whiskers tolerated each other and Anne Marie suspected cat and dog were better friends than they let on. Ellen held Baxter on her lap while she stroked the sleeping cat.

  Lydia rang up a yarn sale, then joined Anne Marie. “I was just thinking I could use a break. Elise,” she called out to the older woman who helped out on weekends, “could you take over for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  Lydia sat in the chair across from her, smiling tiredly. “How are you?”

  Anne Marie shrugged. Usually people who asked that were simply being polite. All they wanted to hear was “Fine.” That wasn’t the case with Lydia.

  “I’m coping,” Anne Marie said. “Things are…confusing.”

  “I thought something was up. Tim parked in front of my store on Thursday. He went across the street, read Winter’s specials on the board and then headed over to the bookstore.”

  “Did you see him when he left?” Anne Marie asked.

  “I did,” Lydia said. “And it was a different story entirely.”

  “He looked like a man ready to commit murder, right?”

  “No,” Lydia said softly. “But it didn’t take much to see that he was upset. He stood outside his car for a few minutes, then banged his fist on the hood. After that he talked on his cell.”

  Anne Marie wondered whom he’d phoned. Then in a flash it came to her. He’d called his AA sponsor. Tim had mentioned the other man numerous times without ever revealing his identity. She was glad he had someone he could talk to whenever he felt the need. She envied him that, although she had friends of her own. Good friends, like Lydia, Barbie and Lillie.

  “Mel and I went out last night.”

  “So I heard,” Lydia said, glancing at Ellen, who still sat in the window, petting Whiskers with Baxter curled on her lap.

  “We had a wonderful time.”

  “You always seem to when you’re with Mel.”

  “He’s so good to me and Ellen.”

  “But you aren’t in love with him, are you?”

  “No,” Anne Marie had to admit. She understood what she found attractive about Mel. Her heart wasn’t at risk with him. He couldn’t hurt her the way Robert had when he’d had his affair—or when he’d died. The shock of both had left Anne Marie emotionally bruised, not quite as resilient as she’d once been. Not only that, she’d met Mel shortly after learning about Tim and Vanessa.

  Lydia continued to study her.

  “Earlier this week Mel asked me where he stood. I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with him.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Lydia said. “The one you haven’t been honest with is you.”

  “I think I might learn to love Mel, given time,” she said. He cared about her and Ellen. While he’d never spoken the words aloud, he showed his feelings in a dozen different ways. Not for an instant did she doubt him. Yes, he was almost twenty years her senior, but that had never bothered her. He’d do anything for her; all she had to do was ask.

  “I agree,” Lydia said thoughtfully. “Love is a choice. It certainly becomes a choice once the intensity of first love passes and you settle into everyday life. I choose to love Brad every single morning and I’m grateful that he chooses to love me back.”

  Anne Marie was impressed by her friend’s marriage. Lydia and Brad’s relationship was strong enough, solid enough, to include Casey, who’d been a difficult and troubled girl. Lydia had told her that Ellen’s adoption had influenced their own decision to bring Casey into their family.

  “Whatever your decision about Mel,” Lydia said, “it’ll be the right one.”

  Anne Marie stayed for tea and then picked out yarn and the new pattern for the bride’s purse.

  “I want to knit the
same bride’s purse as you. That’s okay, isn’t it?” Ellen asked before they left the store.

  “Of course.”

  “Can I knit it without the beads?”

  “If you want, but adding the beads isn’t hard. Lydia and I can show you how.”

  “Okay.”

  “Who will you give the purse to?” Anne Marie asked. She didn’t think Courtney would need two purses. Maybe Ellen wanted it for herself, for the fantasies she and April played at.

  Instead of answering, Ellen asked another question, this one directed toward Lydia. “Can I knit it in pink?”

  “Sure thing,” Lydia answered, and led her to the shelf that housed the fingering-weight cashmere yarns. Ellen chose a light rose color.

  “Mom likes pink. Right, Mom?”

  “I do indeed,” Anne Marie said absently, still focused on her conversation with Lydia.

  Stepping over to the cash register, Lydia rang up the purchase. “That was a good choice,” she assured Ellen. “If you have any problems, your mom can help.”

  “More than likely I’ll be the one going to her,” Anne Marie said with a laugh.

  Ellen was quiet on the ride home. “Can I go to April’s house with Baxter?” she asked.

  “That’s okay as long as it’s all right with her mother.” When they reached the house, Anne Marie phoned Natalie, April’s mom, and learned that April had been at odds all morning, waiting for Ellen’s return. Ellen had taught her to knit, and April was stuck and needed guidance. After a quick lunch, Ellen was out the door.

  Anne Marie stood on the porch, watching her daughter race down the street, knitting bag in one hand, Baxter’s leash in the other.

  It seemed impossible that they’d moved only a week ago. Anne Marie had plenty to do and intended to stay busy. If she spent the afternoon sorting and unpacking, maybe she’d stop thinking about Tim and Mel.

  Mel phoned midafternoon, inviting her and Ellen on an outing to the zoo Sunday afternoon. Anne Marie had taken Ellen to Woodland Park Zoo three or four times already, and since Monday was a school day, she decided a quiet afternoon might be best.

  Mel accepted her decision graciously and didn’t press the point, which struck her as a little unusual.

  Not until she ended the conversation did she wonder what her reaction would have been had Tim suggested the outing. Mel might’ve hoped she’d recommend something else. She hadn’t. Neither had he.

  The fact was, she didn’t feel any excitement, any compulsion about being with Mel. Not the way she felt about being with Tim….

  Only he didn’t phone.

  For the rest of the afternoon, she waited to hear from him. When the phone did ring, around five, Ellen answered; it was obviously one of her friends.

  “What’s for dinner?” her daughter asked an hour later.

  “What would you like?” Before Ellen could respond she added, “Not pad thai, and nothing with peanut sauce.”

  Ellen laughed. “I had that yesterday. I wasn’t going to ask for it now. Can we have spaghetti?”

  “Sure.” Thankfully, that was quick and easy. Anne Marie wasn’t in the mood to cook, or, for that matter, eat.

  They were seated at the table for dinner when Ellen said, “Dad’s eating at Grandma and Grandpa Carlsen’s tonight.”

  “You spoke to Tim?”

  Ellen nodded as she reached for the Parmesan cheese and sprinkled it liberally over her noodles. “That was him on the phone a while ago.”

  Anne Marie immediately lost what little appetite she had. Tim hadn’t asked to speak to her. She toyed with the noodles, swirling them around her fork, but had no interest in her own cooking.

  “Can we start knitting the bride’s purse tonight?” Ellen asked.

  “Sure,” she said, hoping her voice betrayed none of her disappointment.

  “Good.” Ellen ate with relish, seeming to enjoy every bite. “I told Dad I saw you.”

  “Saw me?”

  “Kissing,” she said, and giggled. “You and Dad. You thought I was asleep but I woke up. We were in the car, remember?”

  “Ah…”

  “That day at the lake.”

  Anne Marie knew precisely when it had happened. “What did your father say?”

  “Nothing at first, then he sort of laughed and said you were a good kisser.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Is Dad a good kisser, too?”

  Anne Marie smiled. “He is.”

  “I saw Mel kiss you once.”

  That wasn’t nearly as big a surprise.

  “You kiss him different than you do Dad.”

  “Oh?”

  “You like it more with Dad. I can tell.”

  For that matter, so could Anne Marie. “Mel’s a good kisser,” she said loyally.

  “But not as good as Dad.”

  This wasn’t a conversation Anne Marie felt they should be having. “How about dessert?” she asked, desperately trying to change the subject. Ellen shook her head, but the expression on her face said she knew exactly what Anne Marie was doing.

  After dinner Ellen cleared the table and together they placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, washed the two pots and put them away.

  “Church in the morning,” Anne Marie reminded her.

  “I know,” Ellen said. “Can we start knitting now?”

  “Okay.”

  Ellen ran into her bedroom with Baxter at her heels. She returned with the package from A Good Yarn, and they sat on the sofa, side by side. Anne Marie read the pattern all the way through and so did Ellen. It seemed relatively uncomplicated and wouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks. Anne Marie cherished her knitting time. She used those quiet moments to think, weighing decisions and mulling over whatever troubled her, letting solutions come of their own accord. The rhythmic action of knitting calmed her mind, making her relaxed and receptive.

  “I like the pink yarn,” she told her daughter. “You never did say who you’re knitting the purse for,” Anne Marie said, completing the first row of her own project.

  Ellen frowned as she worked the yarn onto the needles. Casting on was the most difficult part of knitting for her, because she insisted on using the long-tail method. At one time Lydia had said she felt it was the best way of starting a project. From that moment on, Ellen had refused to consider any other method.

  They’d just finished their first rows when Ellen said, “For you.”

  Anne Marie didn’t immediately grasp what she meant. “Oh, you’re knitting the bride’s purse for me?” She smiled. “That’s very thoughtful.”

  “For your wedding.”

  “My wedding,” Anne Marie laughed. “Did I become engaged and forget all about it?” she joked.

  “Not yet.”

  “And just who am I marrying? Mel?”

  Ellen stopped knitting, set her needles aside and hurried into her bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying the spiral notebook in which she’d listed her twenty wishes. She sat down next to Anne Marie and reverently opened the book.

  In neat and even cursive writing, Ellen had carefully written each of her twenty wishes. Several had been crossed out, including the trip to Paris they’d taken almost a year earlier.

  “I have a twenty-first wish.”

  “And what would that be?” Anne Marie asked, bending forward to read what her daughter had written.

  Ellen rested the book on Anne Marie’s lap. Sure enough, at the bottom of the third page was her twenty-first wish. I wish my mom and dad would get married.

  “Your…dad,” Anne Marie said. A tingling sensation went down her spine.

  “You already said you like the way he kisses,” Ellen pointed out.

  “That’s true.” Anne Marie couldn’t very well deny it now.

  “And he likes your kisses, too.” Ellen paused. “Sometimes wishes do come true. Look how many of mine already have,” she said, smoothing the page.

  The trip to Paris.

  Finding her father.
/>   Learning to knit.

  Anne Marie couldn’t read any further because the words began to blur as tears gathered in her eyes. “That’s a very nice wish,” she murmured. “But you have to remember that sometimes wishes don’t come true. And sometimes, even if they do, it takes a long time.”

  Ten

  May 5

  April knows how to knit really well now. She doesn’t even need my help anymore. I told her about the bride’s purse I’m making and now she wants to knit one, too, only she doesn’t know anyone who’s getting married. Her mom is taking her down to A Good Yarn on Saturday and she said I could come. Mom and I have been knitting every night after dinner. I’m glad I showed her my twenty-first wish. I wasn’t going to, but I did, anyway.

  Anne Marie heard from Mel every day for the next week. He phoned at least once and sometimes twice. Invariably he’d invite her somewhere—dinner, a movie, even just coffee—but Anne Marie always found an excuse. Still, Mel persisted. Finally, unable to put him off any longer, she agreed to meet him for a drink on Friday night, after work. Conveniently, Ellen had a playdate with another girl from school.

  Tim phoned, too, but he spoke only to Ellen and, other than a polite exchange of greetings, he didn’t have anything to say to Anne Marie. His lack of communication made her realize how much she’d come to rely on him and how much she’d looked forward to their conversations.

  Lillie Higgins stopped by the bookstore early Friday afternoon. Lillie was not only a good friend, but one of Anne Marie’s best customers. A voracious reader, she’d built up an extensive library and often purchased several hardcovers at a time.

  “Oh, the book you ordered came in,” Anne Marie said. She’d meant to phone and leave a message earlier, but had gotten sidetracked, which seemed to be the norm lately. She really did need to focus on business, she told herself, instead of the sad state of her personal life.