Stitches in Time

by Terri DuLong

  “Hey,” I said. “I thought you were in St. Pete.”

  “Just got back a few minutes ago. I wanted to see how you are. Did you have a good evening?”

  I could definitely add thoughtful to this man’s attributes. “It was okay. Quiet. Haley is spending the night at my mother’s.”

  “Oh, gee, if I had known, I’d have asked you to go with me today.”

  “Thanks, but I couldn’t have gone anyway. We spent most of the day shopping for dresses for Chloe’s wedding.”

  “That makes me feel better. But I’m sorry you had to spend the evening alone. I know it’s short notice, but is there any chance you and Haley would like to go out on my boat tomorrow afternoon?”

  “That sounds like fun. I definitely would love to go, and I’ll check with Haley.”

  “Great. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  I hung up with a smile on my face. I was feeling decidedly less lonely than I had earlier in the evening.

  Chapter 24

  The following week I was at the yarn shop enjoying the afternoon knitting group. Most of us were working on the Isabelle’s Challenge scarf and they were all working up very nicely.

  “When I finish mine,” Fay said, “I’m going to make one for my daughter for Christmas. I think she’d love this, and it’ll keep her warm this winter up in Maine.”

  Chloe nodded. “I’m glad all of you like the pattern. They’re all turning out so pretty in the various colors.”

  “Oh, Isabelle,” Mavis Anne said. “How did you enjoy the boat ride on Sunday? Haley told me you both went out in Chadwick’s boat.”

  “It was fun. He took us on the Halifax River and then docked at the River Grille. The three of us went in for dinner.”

  “That does sound like fun,” Maddie said. “I heard he had a really nice pontoon boat. Aren’t you the lucky girl.” She gave me a playful jab in the ribs.

  “Speaking of boats,” Mavis Anne said, “Louise and I are thinking about booking a cruise.”

  “Oh, how exciting,” I said. “Where to?”

  “It’s the Alaska cruise. We’ve both always wanted to do this. But . . . it’s in May.”

  “Why is that a problem?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s the first week of May. The same week that Chloe will be going to Hawaii. So we wouldn’t have anybody to run the yarn shop.”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “What a shame. I’d love to help out. Maybe between now and then you could train me. I probably wouldn’t be much help with customers coming in with problems, but at least I could do the sales and keep the business going.”

  “Hmm,” Mavis Anne said. “That might work, and we could look around for one other person to be here with you and help out.”

  “There,” Louise said. “It’s settled! We have to send our deposit by the end of the week—let’s do it. The yarn shop will be fine. You worry too much, Mavis Anne.”

  Before she could reply, the door opened and my mother walked in.

  “Mom. What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

  All eyes at the table shifted from me to my mother and back to me again.

  “Well, I am a knitter, Isabelle,” I heard my mother say with an edge to her tone.

  “Isabelle Wainwright,” Mavis Anne said. “Where are your manners? Introduce us to your mother.”

  I made the introductions and felt like a scolded schoolchild.

  “It’s so nice to meet all of you,” my mother said. “You have a lovely shop. Haley has been telling me I had to stop by.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” Mavis Anne said. “Come and join us. We’re just all sitting around knitting.”

  I saw my mother shoot me a glance as if waiting for me to concur. When I remained silent, my mother said, “Oh, thank you, but maybe some other time. I came by to get some yarn for me and Haley. We’re going to be doing a sampler afghan together.”

  “How nice,” Chloe said, getting up. “What do you have in mind?”

  Great. Just great. Now my mother had invaded my place of business and solitude. Today she was wearing capri pants and a cotton knit top. The blue streak in her hair seemed to be fading. And she still looked pretty damn good for her age.

  “Gosh, that’s wonderful,” I heard Chloe say. “I’ve always wanted to take salsa lessons. I bet that’s so much fun.”

  What? My mother was taking salsa lessons?

  “Oh, it is. It’s also very good exercise and a nice way to meet people.”

  “Well, you seem to be settling in quite well.”

  Conversation at the table resumed, but I had no doubt everyone had one ear on what my mother was saying.

  “Isabelle,” Mavis Anne said, “didn’t you tell me that your mother was an expert knitter?”

  “Ah . . . yeah . . . maybe I did.”

  “Well, there’s our solution.”

  I knew exactly what she was going to say, and before I could stop her, she asked, “Iris, would you by any chance be interested in helping out here at the shop for about a week?”

  With no input from me, it had all been decided. Of course my mother agreed to help out. After all, she was retired and had no commitments. She seemed to totally ignore the fact that her coworker during that time would be me. Petra’s words came back to me: be careful what you wish for.

  * * *

  Haley returned home from school and already knew about her grandmother helping out at the yarn shop. Apparently, they had texted each other.

  “Are you okay with that, Mom?”

  “I really had no say about it.”

  “Don’t forget that Tina and her mom are coming at five,” my daughter said, clearly thinking it best to change the subject.

  “I haven’t forgotten. That was really nice of Brenda. She didn’t have to offer to cook supper for us.”

  Brenda Sanchez had called me the week before. She thanked me again for having her and Tina to dinner and said she wanted to reciprocate. But because of her limited cooking facilities, it wasn’t possible to have us to her place. She asked if it would be okay if they came to our house; she would bring all the ingredients and cook us a traditional Mexican dinner. Of course I accepted.

  They arrived just before five, loaded down with plastic bags filled with various items.

  “This is so nice of you,” I told her. “Come on in the kitchen.”

  I helped them carry some bags and then waved my hand in the air. “Well, it’s all yours. I’m just going to sit here and be lazy.”

  Brenda laughed. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. Is it okay if I rummage in your cabinets and drawers for cooking items?”

  “Be my guest. I’ll pour us each a glass of wine.”

  I opened a bottle of red, filled two glasses, and passed one to Brenda. “Here’s to an authentic Mexican meal.”

  Brenda took a sip and nodded. “And I’ll get to work.” She reached into one of the bags and took out a bright orange apron, which she put over her head and tied in the back. Women still wore aprons?

  I watched her remove tomatoes, chicken, rice, beans, and various spices from the bags as I perched on a stool. She began cooking the chicken with sliced onion in the frying pan with oil. While that was cooking, she removed a package of tortillas from a bag and placed them on the counter.

  “I thought I’d make chicken enchiladas,” she said. “With some black beans and rice.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  When the chicken was cooked, she divided it on the tortillas, added some cheese, rolled each one and placed them into a baking dish. She then proceeded to melt butter and flour in a saucepan and stir chicken broth into the mixture before adding sour cream and green chilies and pouring all of it over the enchiladas.

  “There,” she said, after placing the baking dish into the oven. “That needs to cook for twenty minutes. I’ll get the rice and beans going.”

  “You must miss having a proper kitchen for cooking,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I do,” she admit
ted. “But I hope someday I’ll have a kitchen like this again.”

  This bit of news caught me by surprise. “Oh, you had a designer kitchen?”

  “I did. The entire house was pretty ostentatious. Six thousand square feet.”

  What? How did a woman go from that to living in an efficiency on the beach?

  Reading my thoughts, she said, “I know. You must be wondering how I went from such a palatial home to where I am now.”

  I remained silent and waited for her to continue.

  “I’m ashamed to say . . . my husband was a drug dealer. A big one.”

  “Oh. So the house was bought with drug money?”

  “It was, but even more shameful is the fact that I had no idea until it was too late.”

  Another story of a woman being in the dark. I recalled Chloe telling me about her friend Sydney and the way she ended up in Cedar Key. Unbeknownst to her, her husband was a major gambler, and when he died suddenly, Sydney lost her home and bank account.

  “I’m so sorry, but your story isn’t as uncommon as you might think.”

  Brenda took a sip of wine and nodded. “Actually, my husband was an attorney in a prominent law firm. We lived in a modest sized home and had a modest lifestyle when Tina was born. He certainly made decent money, and this enabled me to be a stay-at-home mom. When Tina started school, I offered to go back to work as a nurse, but Carlos insisted I stay home.”

  She began stirring the rice she was now cooking in a saucepan.

  “Carlos was always the boss. When we were first married, I didn’t mind him making most of the decisions, but I guess as I got older I began to resent the fact that I had very little say in major issues. That was when our marriage began to get rocky. He became emotionally abusive and I even thought about leaving him.”

  “But that didn’t happen?” I asked.

  Brenda shook her head. “No. Tina was about ten and he announced that he’d gotten a huge promotion at the office and that we were moving. That was when I should have left. So what happened next was my own fault. I didn’t.”

  Why did women always think the end result was their fault? I wondered if we were genetically engineered to feel we were the cause of relationship problems when in fact it was a loss of self-esteem making us feel that way. I pushed away a thought about myself that flitted into my mind.

  “So you moved?” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. To that house that was never a home. It was a showplace. Carlos insisted we entertain his associates on a lavish level. He even hired staff to make it happen. So most weekends were spent with his friends and business partners coming for dinners and pool parties. What I didn’t know was that most of them were also involved with dealing drugs. It was a major operation and it all came crashing down two years ago when federal agents descended on our house to arrest Carlos.”

  My God. It was beginning to feel like Brenda was describing a television show or a film.

  “That’s terrible,” I said. “They certainly didn’t think you were involved, did they?”

  She let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I wasn’t arrested, if that’s what you mean. The only good thing was that Tina and I weren’t at home the day the feds showed up. She was at school and I was having lunch with friends. But I was interrogated for weeks. At the end of it all . . . Carlos was found guilty and is now serving a lengthy prison term.”

  I shook my head. “God, I’m so sorry. That’s quite a story and a horrible thing for you to go through. I guess you lost the house?”

  She nodded. “Not that I wanted it, but yes, the government confiscated the house, the cars, the boat, just about everything. Tina and I were allowed to keep our clothes and only jewelry that I could prove had belonged to my mother and therefore couldn’t possibly have been bought with drug money.”

  I shook my head again. “Poor Tina—what a thing to go through.”

  “She was devastated. She was the main reason I had to leave that area. The trial was all over the news and in the papers, and even at ten years old, she knew what was going on. I legally changed our last name. Sanchez is my maiden name.”

  Once again it made me realize the lengths to which a mother will go to protect her child. Something I felt my mother had never done.

  I reached over and patted her hand. “You made the best decision possible.”

  She nodded. “It hasn’t been easy, but yes, I know I did. I only hope that eventually Tina and I will have a decent home to live in again. But it’s all okay. I have a good job, Tina is happy at school, and we have each other. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? A mother and her child being together and being happy. The material things? That’s all they are: things.”

  I thought of my own mother again. Yes, that was how it was supposed to be. But I knew that Iris Brunell had failed the test of motherhood.

  Chapter 25

  I awoke a few weeks later and my first thought was that Petra was arriving later that afternoon. But then I recalled my dream from the night before. And once again, Emmalyn had had the central role.

  I tugged on my memory to piece the dream together and recalled that Emmalyn was sitting on a bench in the pond area and I was watching her knit. I wasn’t sure what the item was, but I told her it was beautiful. She gave me a smile, nodded and then began to unravel the piece. I became upset and asked her why she was doing that. She replied, “Sometimes you have to take something apart, go back to the beginning and start over.”

  “This is getting downright crazy,” I said as I headed to the bathroom.

  By the time I went downstairs to start the coffee, I still hadn’t figured out the meaning of the dream. Start over with what? My thinking was interrupted when Haley walked into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she said, heading to the fridge and removing a container of yogurt. “What time will Petra be here?”

  “She said between two and three.”

  “Are we going out for dinner?”

  “Not tonight. I thought after the drive Petra might prefer to have dinner here, so I’m going to make roast chicken. That okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, and resumed spooning yogurt into her mouth. “I can’t wait to see her. Will she meet Chadwick while she’s here?”

  I smiled. “I don’t think she’ll return to Jacksonville without that happening.”

  “How about Nana? Will Nana be able to see her?”

  A twinge of annoyance swept through me. “I don’t know. Petra isn’t coming to visit her.” When Haley didn’t respond, I said, “We’ll see.”

  After Haley left for school, I walked over to the tea shop, loaded up my car, and made my deliveries.

  When I returned, the yarn shop was filled with women knitting and chatting away.

  Mavis Anne called, “Come and join us, Isabelle.”

  I pulled a chair up to the table and noticed that the Isabelle scarves were in various stages of completion.

  “Where’s yours?” Maddie asked. “Aren’t you going to knit?”

  “I can only stay for a little while. My friend Petra is arriving this afternoon and I have to prepare a roast chicken for dinner.”

  “That’s so nice that your friend is coming to visit,” Fay said. “Will she be staying long?”

  “Through the weekend. Yes, it’ll be nice to see her.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Yarrow said, looking at Fay, “how are those ‘mean girls’ treating you at the facility?”

  I had heard the story about Fay, who lived at a retirement facility in Daytona Beach, where a group of knitters had excluded her from the group. Yarrow had met her the previous year at her original tea shop and had asked her to join our group.

  Fay laughed and continued knitting. “Oh, they never change. But that’s okay. I wouldn’t want to be part of a group like that. Besides, a few of us have formed our own group and we’re having a great time. We call ourselves the Feisty Fivesome.”

  All of us laughed and I said, “That’s great. What exactly do you
do?”

  “Oh, all kinds of things. We take road trips together for a few days, we did a paint and wine class, and we pretty much just have fun. But the most important thing is we don’t exclude anybody. If other women want to join us, we welcome them.”

  Mavis Anne shook her head. “Females are definitely complex creatures. That’s why having groups like we have here is a good thing. The only requirement is a love for knitting and socializing.”

  “Well, I’d better get moving,” I said. “Have fun knitting and I’ll see you soon.”

  “You’d better bring Petra over to meet me,” Mavis Anne said. “Are you gals free for dinner tomorrow evening? David and I would love to have you.”

  “I think we are free, but I’ll let you know. If Petra gets here and settled in before five, I’ll bring her over later this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Petra pulled into the driveway just before three. I walked out onto the porch and watched as she opened the back door of her SUV, reached in, and removed Lotte. She placed her on the grass near the fence where she promptly squatted and peed.

  “Hey, you,” I called and felt a huge smile cross my face.

  Petra looked up and raked a hand through her hair. “Hey. Let me just get my luggage.”

  I walked out to the driveway to help. “You take Lotte and I’ll get your bag,” I said, before she pulled me into a tight embrace.

  “This new life must agree with you. You look fantastic, Isabelle.”

  “Thanks. You always do. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

  She looked up at the house and nodded. “So . . . this is Koi House. Very pretty. No wonder you like it here.”

  Petra followed me through the front door.

  “Yeah, but I really have to find my own place soon. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

  I pointed out my room off the upstairs hallway and then Haley’s. “And this one is yours,” I said. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “It’s just gorgeous.” Without asking, she placed Lotte on the bed. “I think we’ll like it here just fine, won’t we, sweetie?” She placed a kiss on top of the dog’s head. “But why push to find your own place? It seems from what you’ve said that Mavis Anne would be happy if you stayed here forever.”