This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2006 by Claire LaZebnik
All rights reserved.
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Hachette Book Group
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5 Spot and the 5 Spot logo are trademarks of Warner Books, Inc.
The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: September 2006
ISBN: 978-0-446-55017-8
Contents
Praise for Claire Lazebnik
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1: Casting On
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
2: Ribbing
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
3: Patterns
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
4: Increases
I
II
III
IV
V
5: Slip, Slip, Knit
I
II
III
IV
V
6: casting off
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
7: Unraveling
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
8: Knit Two Together
I
II
III
IV
V
9: Yarn Over
I
II
III
IV
About the Author
Praise for
Same As It never Was By Claine LaZebnik
“LaZebnik has written a poignant… novel that's funny and touching… an engaging read.”
—Library Journal
“An amazing, assured first novel full of dry wit, an observant eye. and a lot of heart. This is a romance with bite, and I enjoyed every morsel.”
—Jane Heller, author of Female Intelligence
“Claire LaZebnik has written an amazingly sure-footed, witty, and delicious novel, romantic and smart. A pure pleasure.”
—Beth Gutcheon, author of More Than You Know
“This book is a ride down Sunset Boulevard in a convertible: breezy, breathtaking, and hugely satisfying. While reading it, you won't want to be anywhere else.”
—Karen Karbo, author of Generation Ex: Tales of the Second Wives Club
“LaZebnik's entertaining and poignant tale … is written in a bullet-sleek, knife-sharp prose that is a delight to read.”
—Jenny McPhee, author of The Center of Things
“The first great beach read of the summer.”
—King Features
For my mother, Cynthia Scovell.
The oncologist, a soft-spoken Canadian prone to understatement, described the cancer as “not indolent.” An appropriate disease for her then, since my mother was the least indolent person I knew. She was always moving—straightening up the place, puttering around the kitchen, making and returning phone calls, running errand after errand, soaring briskly along supermarket aisles, planning the meals she'd make when her five kids and twelve grandchildren came to visit, watering her plants and pulling their dead leaves off with a quick snap …
She wasn't a fan of sentiment and she never gushed. I miss her.
Acknowledgments
My thanks first and foremost to Emily Griffin for being one of those editors a writer dreams about, whose notes are always smart and whose enthusiasm never seems to waiver, and to Alexis Hurley and Kim Witherspoon for their support and topnotch agenting.
Two absurdly brilliant scientists were consulted in the course of writing this book, so anything scientifically accurate is thanks to Adam Summers and Alice Flaherty. Sadly, I twisted and manipulated their good science to make it work for my plot, so anything inaccurate is completely my responsibility.
I spent a fun evening mixing and sampling cocktails with Michael Broderick (former bartender and current actor) and Dana Commandatore (former New Yorker and current Angeleno) and couldn't have come up with all those drink recipes without their help.
If Aubry Dennehy hadn't been willing to brave L.A. rush-hour traffic to do basketball practice pickup and the like and to spend hours playing board games and getting the kids to go outside (not to mention the dogs), I probably would never have had the time or the energy to finish this book. The same goes for Rob, who, in addition to being the father of my children, is also my rock, my sanity, and my chauffeur. I better thank my brother, Ted, because he likes me to do that in my books and he can still beat me up. And it wouldn't be fun for me to publish a book if I weren't able to get the names Will, Annie, Johnny, and Max in print and to embarrass them by publicly stating that I love them a lot.
Although the autism clinic and staff in this book are completely fictional, their methods were inspired by the Pivotal Response Training approach researched and developed at the Koegel Autism Center at the University of California, Santa Barbara. If you're interested in learning more about their clinic, their Web site is http://www.education.ucsb.edu/autism/index.html.
1
Casting On
I
It was ten o'clock on Sunday morning and the regular time for the girls to meet for their knitting circle, but when Kathleen opened the door to greet the others, she was still wearing her pajama bottoms and a stained “The Best Girls Are from Los Angeles” T-shirt. Her long brown hair was escaping in fly-away strands from her ponytail elastic, and around her eyes were traces of mascara and eyeshadow that clearly hadn't been completely washed off the night before.
Sari said, “You didn't have to dress up just for us.”
“Or clean up,” Lucy said. The huge foyer was strewn with glasses, bottles, crumpled napkins, and small plastic plates with food still on them.
“Give me a break,” Kathleen said. “The party went late and I only just got up. Come to the kitchen so I can make some coffee.”
They followed her toward the back of the house, their knitting bags slung over their shoulders. Sari caught a glimpse of the living room as they went by. It was easily four times the size of her entire apartment, but today it was as trashed as the rest of the house. She said, “I wouldn't want to be the one to have to get the stains out of the carpet.”
“Cleaning help comes tomorrow,” Kathleen said.
“You could at least pick up the trash,” Lucy said with a backward look of disgust at a Coke can that was lying on an antique side table in a sticky brown puddle.
“Cleaning help comes tomorrow,” Kathleen said again, irritably this time. They entered the kitchen. “You guys bring something to eat?”
“Bagels. Sorry, I know it's boring, but it was on the way.” Sari dropped the bag of fresh bagels onto the island, and then tossed her knitting bag and purse next to it. She hoisted herself onto one of the high leather-upholstered stools. When she sat, her feet dangled inches above the floor. “Why is the kitchen so much cleaner than
the rest of the house?”
“Caterers. They cleaned up in here before they left. You both want coffee?”
“Of course we want coffee,” Sari said.
“You had caterers?” Lucy mounted the stool next to Sari. “Sounds fancy. What was the occasion?”
“The twins’ twenty-fifth birthday.”
“Wait a second,” Lucy said. “That doesn't make any sense. If it was their birthday, wouldn't it be your birthday, too?”
“You'd think,” Kathleen said. She was one of triplets. The other two were identical twins, which had made her, from birth, the odd man out.
“So what you're saying is, you had a birthday party and didn't invite us,” Sari said. “Should we be hurt?”
Kathleen was staring at the coffeemaker like she'd never seen it before. “God, my brains not functioning,” she said. “I think I’m still drunk from last night. I didn't even go to bed until after three. Don't be an idiot, Sari. You and I went out to celebrate my birthday two months ago. Don't you remember?”
“Oh, right,” Sari said. “We went to Bombay Café.”
“Why wasn't I invited?” Lucy said.
“You were. You were working late and couldn't come.” Sari turned back to Kathleen, who was filling up the coffee carafe with water at the sink. “But you turned twenty-seven.”
“I know.”
“So why were the twins celebrating their twenty-fifth birthday last night if they turned twenty-seven two months ago?”
“Good question,” Kathleen said. She carried the carafe back to the coffeemaker. She had overfilled it, and the water was trickling out, leaving a trail of drips on the wood floor behind her. “The party was a publicity event for their new movie. The twenty-five part is just a lie.” Kathleen's sisters had once had a successful sitcom on TV where they played identical twin sisters who confused a lot of people by exchanging places. It ran for six years. When it ended, they started making movies, in each of which they played identical twin sisters who confused a lot of people by exchanging places.
“They always seem younger than you,” Lucy said. “Are you sure you're the same age?”
“Yep,” Kathleen said. “We popped out all together. In fact, I was the last one out, which makes me the youngest. People just think I’m older because I’m so much taller. Plus I went to school while they were stuck on some set or another being quote unquote tutored so they have the intellect of ten-year-olds.”
“Was it a good party?” Sari asked, looking around. “It looks like it was a good party. The house is trashed.”
“I honestly don't remember much about it. There was a cute bartender who was extremely talented. He made the best pomegranate margarita…” Kathleen poured the water into the coffee-maker. “I talked to him, helped him out by tasting some new variations—” She stuck the carafe in its place and turned to look at them. “I have a bad feeling, though—”
“About what?”
“I don't know. Like I did something last night I shouldn't have.”
“Maybe you slept with the bartender,” Lucy said. She tore a bagel in half, then carefully dug out the insides with her long, slender fingers. She piled the discarded bread in a neat pyramid on the counter in front of her.
Kathleen shook her head. “No, that would have been a good thing. And it's more that feeling you get when someone's mad at you.”
“Maybe the bartender had a girlfriend.”
“Will you forget about the bartender?” She pushed the start button on the coffeemaker. “It'll be ready in a few minutes. You guys want to stay in here or move to the family room?”
“Those are our only choices?” Sari said. “Doesn't this house have at least fifty other rooms?”
“Oh, don't exaggerate,” Lucy said. “It's a simple little fifteen-thousand-square-foot cottage. Don't make it sound like a mansion.” She took a small bite of her bagel shell, then put it down on top of the pile of discards and dusted off her fingers with the finality of someone who has had all the breakfast she intends to have.
“I should get dressed,” Kathleen said with another yawn. “But it seems like so much work.”
“You poor thing,” Lucy said. “You slave over a hot drink all night—”
“A hot bartender,” Sari said. “She slaved over a hot bartender all night. The drinks were cold. All fifteen of them.”
“I think there may have been fifteen,” Kathleen said. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and said wearily, “I’ve got to cut back.”
“What I don't get is how you stay so thin,” Lucy said. She reached down to the floor for her knitting bag and pulled out a ball of yarn, two knitting needles, and an attached length of sparkling blue scarf. “If I drank as much as you, I’d be the size of this house. Alcohol's fattening.”
Sari said, “Uh, Kathleen? I usually take coffee in my coffee.”
Kathleen turned to look. Steaming brownish hot water was dripping into the carafe. “Shit,” she said. “I forgot to put in the grounds.”
Lucy hooted. “Brilliant.”
“I told you I was still drunk from last night.” She punched the coffeemaker off.
A young woman walked into the room. They all turned. “Hi,” she said. She had an appealingly childlike round face, long, wavy auburn hair, and a narrow body that seemed too small for the size of her head. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Sari said. “Hi.”
“It's your house,” Lucy added.
“Morning,” Kathleen said. The other girl didn't even acknowledge her but, with a nod at the other two, walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, took out a bottle of Voss water, then, with another nod and a “Later,” left the kitchen.
There was a moment of silence. Kathleen carried the carafe of dirty-looking water over to the sink and dumped it, then refilled it with clean tap water.
“Okay,” Lucy said. “Which one was that?”
“I don't know,” Kathleen said. “I can't tell them apart.”
“Yes, you can,” Sari said.
Kathleen reached into a cabinet above the coffeemaker and got out a canister of coffee. “Fine. It was Christa. Does it really matter to you?”
“She always that friendly in the morning?” Lucy said.
Kathleen shrugged as she shook some coffee grounds directly into the filter. “I think maybe she's mad at me about last night.”“Why?” Sari said.
“I told you—I can't remember.”
Lucy held her knitting up and studied it critically.
“It's beautiful, Lucy,” Sari said. She reached out and pulled the end of the scarf toward her. “This yarn is incredible. I love the way it glitters.”
“It's got these metallic pieces woven in … It's cool, isn't it?”
“Have you ever made anything besides a scarf?” Kathleen leaned back against the counter where the coffee was finally successfully brewing. “I mean, we've been doing this for years and all I’ve ever seen you make is scarves.”
“I like scarves,” Lucy said.
“I’ve never seen you wear one. Unless you're using them as part of some kinky sex bondage game …”
“Scarves are fun to knit,” Lucy said. She picked up her needles and started clicking away with them. “You just go on row after row, and when it's long enough, you're done.”
“How about some plates here?” Sari said to Kathleen.
The phone started ringing. Kathleen reached up to open a cabinet.
“Don't you need to get that?” Sari said.
“It's not for me—I only use my cell.” The phone stopped ringing. Kathleen put a stack of plates on the counter, then reached into the bag and took out a handful of bagels. She was piling them high on a plate when one slipped off and fell on the floor. She picked up the bagel and was about to drop it back with the others when Lucy thrust a hand in the way.
“For God's sake, throw it out. It's got hairs on it.”
“Picky, picky, picky.” Kathleen tossed it into the sink. br />
Sari pulled a container of cream cheese out of the bagel bag and opened it. “Get a knife, Kath, will you?”
“A clean one,” Lucy said.
“And cups for juice,” Sari said.
“And mugs for coffee.”
“You guys are a lot of work,” Kathleen said.
“When you come to my place, everything's already set up,” Lucy said. “Sari's, too.”
“I’m sorry I’m not Martha Stewart,” Kathleen said. “Somewhere around the seventeenth drink last night, I guess I forgot to clean the good china for you.”
“Party girl,” Sari said fondly.
Kathleen grinned at her. “Working on it.”
“Mugs?” Lucy said.
As Kathleen was reaching up to get them, her mother entered the room, flanked on each side by a girl identical to the one who had entered the room earlier. The two redheads made perfect bookends to their blond mother as they all stopped in the doorway. Sari and Lucy swiveled to greet them.
“Hello, Sari, darling,” said Kathleen's mother, who, with her regular features and small frame, looked more like the twins’ sister than their sister did, since Kathleen was tall and dark-haired. “Hello, Lucy. Kathleen, could we please have a word with you?”
“Why?” Kathleen said, turning around. “What is it? Is it about last night? What'd I do?” She seemed more curious than concerned.