A Dropped Stitches Christmas
Page 17
“I don’t know what I want,” Becca says bleakly. Knowing her, I can tell that is a statement of despair. Becca always knows what she wants, or at least she used to know.
“Problems?” I ask.
Becca hesitates and then reaches out her arm to pull the Sisterhood journal toward her. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I could give Becca a lecture on secrets, but I don’t. “If you need us, we’ll be there.”
Becca nods as she picks the Sisterhood journal up and holds it. “I know.”
There’s a knock on the door and I look up to see Uncle Lou, Quinn and Randy.
“We’re just going to pour your tea and then leave,” Quinn says as he puts his head in the door. “We know you’re not done talking yet.”
“That’s right. We’re making our own plans in the kitchen,” Randy says as he carries in a tray that holds four cups of some tea that Uncle Lou found in Italy and a plate of imported biscotti.
Randy winks at me. “See you when you’re finished.”
I didn’t know Randy would be here tonight so I’m grinning up at him like the lovesick fool that I am. I notice Marilee has a similar look on her face. I think Quinn surprised her as well.
“You girls need to keep up your strength,” Uncle Lou says as he sets the cups down in front of each one of us.
When we have our tea, the men leave the room and go back to the counter to sit down.
I happen to glance over at Becca and I see she’s looking at Marilee, who’s watching Quinn through the glass panes in the French doors. Becca has a funny look of half misery and half longing on her face.
“Why you’ve got a boyfriend,” I blurt out without thinking and I see a flush of color on Becca’s face.
“Not really,” she says, but her color has already given her away.
“Well,” Marilee says, turning from the window and sounding very pleased. “You definitely need to have the journal then.”
“And no fair taping all of the pages shut, either,” Lizabett says, with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Becca grumbles.
“The road to true love is never smooth,” I say. Maybe Becca didn’t give the cap she knit to Joy, after all. “There will always be things to say, I guarantee it.”
“You’re going to have to help me then,” Becca says with a sigh.
“We’re the Sisterhood,” I say softly. “Of course we’ll help you.”
I look up at Randy and I see he’s looking through the glass panes at me. I am so fortunate. “You all helped me with Randy,” I say.
“And me with Quinn,” Marilee adds.
“Then I suppose I am next,” Becca says, although she doesn’t sound a bit happy about it. She does keep a firm hold on the Sisterhood journal, though, and I know she’ll carry through. Becca always does what she has to do, whether she wants to do it or not.
After we’ve finished our Sisterhood meeting, Randy asks me if I’d like to walk down Colorado Boulevard with him before he drives me home. I say yes. There’s something about walking down this well-lit street in the evening that makes me think of old classic movies. Most of the shops are open late and soft light shines out from each window. There’s a man standing on the corner with his saxophone playing some Delta blues; he’s got a hat out for tips and Randy puts in a few dollars. Several of the restaurants have sidewalk seating and the candles on the tables give a golden hue to the night. People are walking up and down the street, talking and laughing.
Randy and I walk all the way down to the bridge that goes over the Arroyo Seco canyon beneath us. It’s quieter here. Randy has his arm around me and we look at the lights from the houses on the other side of the canyon.
“There’s a house that still has its Christmas lights up,” Randy says as he points.
“I still have the lights strung on the balcony at my uncle’s house, too. I don’t want Christmas to end.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Of course, I don’t turn the lights on even though they’re still up,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m one of those Christmas-trees-up-until-Easter people.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were.”
“Oh.”
Randy smiles down at me. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, pretty much anything you do is okay with me.”
And then he kisses me. Which is pretty much okay with me, too.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1034-3
A DROPPED STITCHES CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2007 by Janet Tronstad
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