CAROL GIRARD
“C
ameron Douglas Girard, what are you
doing?
”
Cameron gazed up from the carpet where he sat sorting through his daddy’s sock drawer. The nine-month-old grinned up at her guilelessly as Carol stood with her hands on her hips, trying hard to look stern while struggling not to laugh. “Come here,” she said, lifting her baby boy into her arms. Raising him high, she pressed her mouth against his bare belly and made a loud smooching noise. Cameron let out a squeal of pleasure. When she lowered him, he buried his face in her shoulder, gripping her hair with both hands, gurgling and chattering.
In this past year, Carol had learned about a whole new facet of love—about how much one person could love another and how much a mother could love her child. Cameron might not have come from her womb, but he was her son in every way that counted.
“It’s time for our walk,” she told him.
Cameron knew what that meant and squirmed, wanting her to put him down. She did, quickly returning Doug’s socks to the bottom drawer of their chest of drawers. Then she carried Cam to his room, where she dressed him in tiny jeans and a hand-knit sweater. The pants were a gift from her brother, who’d sent them, plus a matching jacket, shortly after the adoption was completed. Released again, Cameron crawled rapidly toward the stroller. Once he reached it, he pulled himself into a standing position, then looked over his shoulder to be sure she’d noticed his feat and appreciated his skill. Cameron loved their walks.
“We’re visiting the yarn store this afternoon,” Carol told him as she buckled him in. “We’re going to see Miss Lydia.”
Draping her purse over her shoulder, Carol left the condo and pushed the stroller into the hallway and then into the waiting elevator. They took the same route almost every afternoon, stopping at a park two blocks from their building to chat with other young mothers.
Carol’s circle of friends had broadened dramatically since she’d left work and Cameron had come into their lives. The other mothers she’d met at the park had formed a casual group, meeting once a week for coffee. They shared advice and experiences, traded parenting books and magazines, passed on toys and clothing their own children no longer needed. Carol was the oldest member of the group, but that had never bothered her.
After their park visit, Carol steered Cameron into the yarn store. “Carol,” Lydia called out cheerfully. “Hello.” She squatted down so she was eye level with Cameron. “You, too, Cam.”
The baby grabbed for a skein of bright purple yarn but Carol was too quick for him and automatically rolled the stroller backward and away from the tempting yarn.
“I need another ball of that Paton worsted.”
“The olive-green, right?” Lydia had an uncanny ability to remember who’d bought what yarn for which project. Carol had so many projects going now, it was hard to keep track of them all. Lydia, however, had no such difficulty.
“Jacqueline was by earlier this afternoon,” Lydia said.
“She’s back?”
“With a gorgeous tan, too. She looks so happy,” Lydia said with a contented smile.
“That’s great.”
“She’ll be here Friday.”
“What about Alix?” The fourth member of their knitting group wasn’t always available on Fridays. It had been hit-and-miss with her because of culinary school commitments.
Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll be able to make it.”
Carol sighed. “I miss her when she can’t be here.”
“Me, too,” Lydia admitted. “Remember what we thought when she first signed up for the class?”
“I was convinced Jacqueline and Alix would go for each other’s throats within the first five minutes.” Carol laughed. “They were impossible, always sniping at each other.”
“It was like third grade all over again.”
“You’re telling me.” Carol marveled anew at how the relationship between those two had turned out.
“Jacqueline was ready to drop out more than once,” Lydia said, reminiscing.
Carol nodded. “I understood why she wanted to, but I’m so grateful she didn’t.”
“I am, too. And if Alix hadn’t stayed…”
They could never have guessed how one defiant, angry young woman would influence all their lives.
“Do you ever hear from Laurel?” Lydia asked.
“Not a word. Not since the day Cameron was born. She went into court on her own, signed the paperwork and walked out the door without a word to either Doug or me.”
“What about Alix? They used to be roommates.”
“If she’s heard from Laurel, she’s never mentioned it to us.”
“What about Jordan?”
Carol sighed. “I understand he hooked her up with a counselor and got her housing when the apartment building was sold.” The urge to take Cameron in her arms and hold him protectively against her was nearly overwhelming, but Carol resisted. “She was a sad, confused young woman with a lot of problems.”
“But she did one thing right in her life, and that was to give you and Doug her son.”
“I wish her well,” Carol murmured, and she meant it.
At some point, years from now, Cameron might be curious about his birth parents; he might even want to search for them. That decision would be his, but for now, during these formative years, this baby boy was hers and Doug’s. It was their love and their values that would shape him.
Lydia brought the yarn to the counter and rang it up. After Carol had paid for it, she tucked the plastic bag in the basket behind the stroller and headed for the door. “I’ll see you Friday afternoon.”
Lydia gave her a final wave and Carol wheeled the stroller down the sidewalk, past the florist and the café and toward the hill to the waterfront area and the condo.
She’d only been home a few minutes when Doug arrived. He kissed Carol, then reached down for Cameron, lifting him up and hugging him close. Carol was always profoundly moved when she saw her husband with his son. Cameron’s face lit with joy at the sight of his daddy and he squealed and clapped his hands.
The moment was poignant and real. They’d waited so long for this. They’d suffered and sacrificed but none of that seemed important now. They had their son. They had their family. Carol closed her eyes, holding on to this moment, experiencing it as fully as possible.
Doug sat on the floor and played with Cameron and together father and son stacked blocks while Carol looked on, tears moistening her eyes. She knew that in the years to come, everything might not be as perfect as it was today. It didn’t matter. She felt content and happy, and the emptiness that had nearly destroyed her was gone.
She was complete.
ALIX TOWNSEND
A
lix put the finishing touches on her crème brûlée and stepped back to give her instructor a chance to grade her work. Mr. Diamont moved forward and studied it with a discerning eye, then tapped the burnt sugar crust. He tasted the creamy custard beneath and nodded approvingly. He turned in her direction. “Nice job, Alix. You may go.”
Alix stared at her teacher, certain that she hadn’t heard him correctly. She didn’t wait long, however, but removed her hat and apron and hurried out of the class. Praise from Diamont was as rare as discretionary cash.
Her budget was tight and would be for the next year of the two-year program. Alix had lived on far less. The lack of money didn’t bother her because she was doing something she loved. Cooking. For years she’d dreamed of attending cooking school, but the tuition costs were as high as a college education. It would’ve continued to be far beyond her means if not for her friends Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.
Alix had met Reese shortly after Carol and Doug adopted Laurel’s baby. Reese had lots of prominent friends; through his connections he was able to steer her toward a scholarship program offered by a local service club. And if that wasn’t enough, Jacqueline had insisted Alix live in their guest house while she attended school. Their housekeeper had recently retired and now Alix had a house-cleaning job that supplied her with enough money to pay for her basic needs.
All of this seemed too good to believe. Every now and then, Alix had to pinch herself to prove this was real. To make sure it was happening to
her,
Alix Townsend.
Once she’d changed out of her uniform, Alix called Jordan’s cell from the pay phone in the locker room.
“Hi,” she said when he answered.
“Finished for the day?” He seemed to have been waiting for her call.
“Mr. Diamont said I could go.”
“Already? You must’ve done all right.”
“I must have,” she said, biting her lip to keep from bragging. There’d be plenty of time for that when she was out of earshot of the other students.
“I wonder what it would take to bribe you into making crème brûlée for me,” he said playfully. “It
is
my favorite dessert.”
“Oh, I don’t know, but I’ll bet I could think of something.”
“I’ll bet you could, too. Should I pick you up?”
“If you want.” His days were busy, and it was a lot to ask of him. Normally she wouldn’t phone but she’d been worried about this test and he’d asked her to let him know how she’d done. “I can always take the bus,” she said now.
“I’m on my way.”
She waited outside the Seattle Cooking Academy for about ten minutes before Jordan’s car approached. They’d been dating nearly a year now, and she’d grown accustomed to having him in her life—accustomed to a lot of things. He’d even managed to talk her into attending church on a regular basis. For the first time she felt like a normal person who lived a normal life with people around her who cared and wanted her to succeed. She figured Jordan was right. God hadn’t given up on her.
Jordan parked at the curb, and leaned across the seat to open the passenger door. Alix slid inside and they kissed briefly. Jordan checked his rearview mirror, then merged with the traffic.
“I don’t suppose you remember what today is?” he asked nonchalantly.
Alix wracked her brain but could think of nothing. “Is May sixth supposed to have some significance?”
“It doesn’t to you?” He tossed her a hurt-little-boy look.
“Apparently not.”
Jordan grinned and pretended to be absorbed by the flow of downtown Seattle traffic. “That was the first day you flashed your baby blues at me at the video store.”
“My eyes are brown!”
“Whatever,” he said in the same flippant voice she’d so often used with him. “You honestly don’t remember? It was May sixth when I saw you standing outside the video store, smoking. I was minding my own business, going in to rent a video, when you interrupted me with some weak excuse.”
“I set aside a video for you.”
“You were making eyes at me.”
“Making eyes at you?” she snorted. “You’re dreaming.” She looked at him with mock scorn, but it pleased her beyond measure that he’d recalled such a minute detail of their relationship.
“So I figure today is something of an anniversary for us.”
“Us, is it?” she asked, loving every second of this banter between them.
“You are my girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“And your chef.”
“That, too.”
She shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I guess.”
“In that case, you might want to check out the little box in my glove compartment.”
All at once it felt as if they were flying instead of driving. “A box in the glove compartment for me?”
“Take a look.”
Her hand trembled as she opened the compartment. Sure enough, a small black jeweler’s case with a bright red bow was nestled in among the owner’s manual and the car registration papers. She pulled it out and held it in the palm of her hand.
“What’s inside?” she asked. She couldn’t help it; she sounded breathless.
“Go ahead and see,” Jordan said.
The banter was gone, and the car seemed to grow suddenly warm and airless.
When she didn’t immediately comply, he prodded her. “Well? What’s holding you back? Open the box!”
“It’s a very pretty box.”
“Thank you, but what’s inside is even prettier.”
Alix removed the bow and then with exaggerated care lifted the lid. Inside was a lovely ring with a ruby and two small diamonds, one on either side.
“Jordan.” She said his name on a single lengthy breath. “It’s beautiful.”
“I thought so, too.”
“But…why?”
“Didn’t I just remind you it’s been a year since we linked up?”
“Yes, I know, but…” If he made her cry Alix didn’t think she’d forgive him.
“Try it on.”
She slipped it out and placed it on her finger. The fit was perfect.
“It’s official now,” Jordan said.
“What is?”
“You and me.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t need a ring—however lovely—to prove that. But she only smiled.
“Next year for our anniversary,” he continued, “after you’ve graduated from cooking school, I’d like to replace that with a diamond engagement ring. What would you think?”
The tears did come then. “I think that’d be just fine,” she whispered. “Now would you stop this car so I can show you how damn much I love you?”
“That,” said Jordan, “can be arranged.”
“To learn to knit you need beginner’s hands and a beginner’s mind. Knitting is a hobby. Breathe, relax and have fun.”
—Donna Druchunas, SheeptoShawl.com
LYDIA HOFFMAN
I
t’s hard to believe that A Good Yarn’s been open for a year. I’ve decided to hold my first—and, I hope, annual—yarn sale. Margaret, who works part-time for me now, created the flyers and the signs. My sister has an artistic bent, although she’s quick to deny it.
This has certainly been an eventful year. My business has prospered and I’ve achieved every goal I set for my first year, plus some. My class list has grown. My original three class members are still with me and we share a deep bond. We’re friends. Our Friday afternoon sessions are an ongoing social event—with knitting. I’m holding other classes, too. My inventory doubled in the last twelve months and continues to grow, although space is becoming a problem. Brad has been wonderful and together with Matt, my brother-in-law, has constructed shelves to hold the newer yarns I’ve made available to my customers.
One morning this week, I was sitting at my desk, dealing with long-overdue paperwork. I glanced into the shop where Margaret was busy tending an early customer; just seeing her made me treasure my business all the more. I’m so grateful I took this giant step in faith. A Good Yarn is everything I dreamed it would be. I hardly think of it as coming to work because it’s such a joy to do what I love and to be able to share my passion for knitting with others.
My father is the one I thank for giving me the courage to move forward with my life. His death taught me such valuable lessons. I suppose the irony is that his death taught me about life. I’d come to depend on him, but in this last year I’ve learned to draw upon the inner strength he instilled in me. I suppose it’s fanciful to think he’s smiling down on me, but I do.
That smile of my father’s would include Margaret. My sister and I have come a long way in repairing our relationship. We’ve grown steadily closer, first as sisters and then as friends. A year ago, if anyone had told me that my sister and I would be working side by side in my yarn store, I would’ve keeled over in a dead faint. Margaret and me—oh, hardly. And yet that’s exactly what we’re doing.
Margaret started filling in for me while I was going through my most recent scare with cancer last year. Dr. Wilson wasn’t giving the cancer a chance to recur, and while the treatment wasn’t as aggressive as the chemotherapy and radiation I’d endured in the past, it was aggressive enough. It was often necessary for me to take a day off, so Margaret, with her limited experience, helped me out. How grateful I am to my sister. She was more familiar with crocheting than knitting when she started, but in recent months, she’s mastered knitting, too. Now she’s as much a part of the store as I am, and the customers have warmed to her. Margaret will never be a spontaneous sort of person, but she’s excellent at sales and I’m proud to have her as an employee. Mom is pleased with our new relationship, too.
Perhaps the biggest change in my life, however, is Brad and Cody. We’re together as much as our schedules will allow, and I’ve fallen deeply in love with this special man and with his son.
“The flyers are back from the printer,” Margaret said, stepping into my tiny office and interrupting my thoughts. “When would you like me to get them to the mailing service?”
I looked up from my desk. “Today if possible.”
She nodded. “I can do that.”
“Thanks.” I wanted her to know how much I appreciated everything she did for me. “I owe you so much, Margaret.”
She shook off my praise, as I knew she would. My gratitude seemed to embarrass her. “Are you sure you’re up to the Mariners game tonight?” At times, although they were increasingly rare, Margaret fell into that protective older-sister mode.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, letting her know I was capable of judging my own limits. In any case, I had no intention of disappointing Brad and Cody. We’d had tickets for this game against the San Diego Padres for weeks.
“Good.”
“What about you, Matt, Mom and the girls? You’ll be there, too, won’t you?”
“Of course!” Margaret’s eyes widened. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
“As long as you’re up to it,” I teased.
She ignored that and craned her neck to look out the front windows. “Our favorite UPS delivery man just pulled up.”
Five minutes later, Brad entered the shop, whistling as he rolled in the stack of boxes, filled with my latest shipment of yarn.
“Mornin’, Margaret,” he said as he handed her the clipboard.
My sister signed her name and Brad came to the back to see me.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I always blush when Brad talks to me like that. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his love. I’m the luckiest woman alive. Brad and I have talked about marriage, but I’m the one dragging my feet. I had to be sure first—not about loving him, because I do. No, I had to be sure about the cancer. I’m safe for now, and the future’s like a blank page waiting for a story to be written on it. Or a ball of yarn waiting to be knit…
I love Brad and Cody. I’ve worked hard to establish a good relationship with Brad’s son. His mother and I have talked a number of times; she loves her son, but she’s concentrating on her own needs just now. The funny part is, she seems grateful to me for stepping in.
Still, life doesn’t hold any guarantees. Brad and I have talked about this often, and I’m ready to accept his proposal. I know that’s what I want.
Brad tucked his arms around my waist. “You’re looking mighty kissable this morning.”
I smiled and kissed him, letting my mouth linger on his. I didn’t often let our kisses get this involved, especially during business hours. Yet there are moments when it’s easy to forget where we are.
“To what do I owe this?” he asked in a husky whisper close to my ear.
“It’s just because I love you,” I told him.
“I love you, too.”
I gave his backside a friendly pat. “See you tonight—and don’t forget, you’re buying the hot dogs and peanuts.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
He left the shop and I stood next to Margaret as I watched him walk away. “He’s one of the good guys,” my sister said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
I eyed Margaret, wondering what she’d say when she learned I’d made my decision. “Yes.”
She gave me a wide smile. “It’s about time.”
“Yup, I figure it is. I love him. And you know what the real bonus is? Brad and I can laugh together.”
My sister was still grinning. “Life sure has a way of keeping you in stitches.”
I don’t think she meant the pun, but I couldn’t help agreeing.