Blossom Street Brides

“That,” he said pointedly, “is my new favorite dinner.”

  “I’ll take hamburger out of the freezer right now,” Lydia told him.

  “Thanks, Mom.” The screen door slammed as her son hurried to meet the school bus.

  Seeing that Casey seemed to be in a bear of a mood, Lydia said nothing, preferring that her daughter reach out to her. She noticed that Casey had barely touched her breakfast. She swirled the spoon around the oatmeal a couple of times but didn’t eat. Lydia resisted placing her hand against the girl’s forehead to see if the teenager had a fever.

  The silence was louder than a shouting match, and when Lydia couldn’t bear it any longer, she tried another tactic. “That reporter I met Sunday at McDonald’s is stopping by the shop this morning.”

  Casey perked up slightly. “Will your picture be in the newspaper?”

  Lydia couldn’t be sure. The reporter had wanted to do the interview right then, but Lydia couldn’t. Not with Brad and the kids waiting for her, and so they’d arranged to meet this morning. “I doubt she’ll want more than a statement or two.”

  “Didn’t she ask to take your picture or that of the shop?” Casey sounded offended that Lydia hadn’t been promised the front-page headline.

  “She didn’t say anything about a photographer.”

  “Oh.” As though terribly disappointed, Casey’s shoulders sagged.

  “I’m not even sure why she wants to interview me. I don’t have anything to do with those knitting baskets.”

  “But the yarn is from the shop.”

  “I know. I’m convinced it’s one of my customers.” While Lydia recognized the yarn, most of which had been discontinued long ago, she hadn’t come up with answers. The wide variety of yarns told her that whoever it was had been a longtime customer. She’d asked several of her friends who frequented the shop but hadn’t gotten any help from that end.

  Casey looked up. “I think it’s a wicked good idea.”

  “I suppose.” It was a wicked good idea, she agreed. However, she wished whoever was responsible had thought to mention it to her.

  “Come on, Mom. Everyone is talking about it.”

  That was true enough. “It’s certainly gotten the shop a lot of attention, and we’ve gotten more business as a result … only …” She let the rest fade.

  “Only what?” Casey pressed.

  “Well … it’s a little embarrassing to have to tell everyone that I’m not involved. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but it would have helped to coordinate with me. In some ways, I feel blindsided.”

  Casey sat up straighter, and her eyes brightened. “I think I know who it is.”

  “You know?”

  “It’s a guess.”

  “Guess away,” Lydia urged. Her daughter could be insightful at times, and there was every possibility that Casey had thought of an angle that had escaped Lydia.

  Casey leaned forward slightly, and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “Margaret.”

  “Margaret?” Lydia repeated, and had to squelch the urge to laugh. “Well, maybe, but I doubt it.”

  “Trust me. It’s Margaret,” Casey said, and then advised, “Keep an eye on her. She can be secretive like that. Grandma told me that when Margaret was a teenager she used to sneak out of her bedroom in the middle of the night and meet up with friends.”

  “Grandma told you that, did she?”

  “Yes. She tells me lots of things. You didn’t do that because you were the good girl.”

  She was the sick girl, but Lydia didn’t bother to correct her.

  “I’ll keep a watch over Margaret,” she promised, although if it was her sister it would be a complete shock. Margaret was many things, but this publicity ploy wasn’t her style. She had an in-your-face kind of personality. Going behind Lydia’s back and delivering knitting baskets around the neighborhood didn’t sound a bit like her sister.

  “Can you drive me to school?” Casey asked after glancing at the time.

  “Okay.” As it was, her daughter had already missed the bus, and if she was going to get to school anytime close to the bell, it would mean Lydia would need to drive her. “Hurry.”

  “I will.” Casey’s mood seemed only slightly more chipper. Any improvement was a plus, though.

  Quickly, Lydia cleared the table and stuck the dirty bowls inside the dishwasher. She got the promised hamburger out of the freezer and set it on a plate on the counter and grabbed her raincoat and purse. The sky looked dark and brooding, which sort of matched her daughter’s mood.

  Lydia was already in the car when Casey joined her. The teenager snapped her seat belt into place and expelled her breath as though she’d greatly exerted herself with the effort.

  Taking a risk, Lydia asked, “Did you have another bad dream last night?” She hadn’t heard Casey, but then, if she hadn’t cried out, Lydia could have slept through it.

  “Yeah,” Casey admitted.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Although this dream had happened several times already, Casey had yet to tell Lydia what it was about.

  “Are dreams true?” Casey asked a few minutes later.

  Lydia didn’t have an answer. Like the question about the phrase “getting out on the wrong side of the bed,” dreams weren’t something she’d given much thought to before. “I assume there must be different kinds of dreams. From what I’ve read, certain dreams have meanings.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not sure. I remember as a kid I once dreamed about going to school, and when I got there I realized I’d forgotten to get dressed.”

  For the first time that morning, Casey smiled.

  “I must have been feeling vulnerable about something.”

  “Did you have the dream again and again?” her daughter asked.

  “No. Are you having the same dream over and over?” For just a second, Lydia took her eyes off the road.

  Casey nodded.

  “It’s terrifying, whatever it is.” Lydia had never seen Casey as emotionally shaken as when she had this nightmare. Whatever it was seemed to upset her feisty daughter unlike anything else.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I visit Grandma this afternoon?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “I’ll take the city bus,” Casey said, which meant she wouldn’t be stopping by the shop or the house first.

  Lydia pulled into the circular driveway leading up to the front of the school. She had to wait in a long line of cars with other parents dropping off their tardy children. “Give me a call when you’re ready to have me pick you up from Grandma’s.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  “No problem. I know how much you enjoy visiting your grandmother; she loves it when you stop by.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Grandma,” Casey told her. “I meant about not taking it personally when I was cranky this morning.”

  “Oh?” Lydia still didn’t know what she’d done to warrant special appreciation.

  “You gave me emotional space.”

  Emotional space? Lydia couldn’t help but wonder where Casey had come up with that phrase. “You’re welcome. Have a good day.”

  “I’ll try.”

  When it was their turn in front of the school, Lydia stopped and Casey leaped out of the vehicle. Even before the car door closed, Lydia could hear a friend call out to Casey. Her daughter waved her arm, and soon the two girls raced toward the entrance just as the school bell rang.

  When she arrived at A Good Yarn, Lydia came in through the back entrance, choosing to park in the alley. If customers saw her inside the shop, it would be hard to turn them away.

  Whiskers greeted her, and after feeding him and giving him attention she sequestered herself inside her tiny office. Whiskers returned to his spot in the window and curled up for a nap.

  Dreading the task before her, Lydia put it off and brewe
d herself a single cup of coffee. Sitting at her desk, she savored it before she started in on paying bills, a necessary evil.

  Business had picked up slightly, but it was difficult to show a profit in a down economy, and they were heading into the summer months, when business generally took a downturn. Lydia had a strict budget she needed to adhere to. Thankfully, she was able to pay her creditors and employees with a small amount left over, which was a nice surprise. It would be helpful to have more than the most rudimentary website, but she wouldn’t be able to afford that anytime soon. She was grateful Brad’s job supported their family, and he encouraged her efforts with a small business.

  A loud knock sounded against the glass at the front door. Lydia glanced at her watch, surprised to find that nearly ninety minutes had passed. It didn’t seem possible. Hurrying out of her office, she went to the front of the store and unlocked the door for the Seattle Times reporter.

  “Hello again,” Shannon Kidder greeted.

  Lydia had the other woman’s business card, and after reading several of Shannon’s columns online, she felt the reporter could be trusted to set the right tone for the news piece.

  “Come in, please.” She opened the door wider to allow the reporter greater access.

  Shannon came into the shop, paused, and looked around at the shelves of yarn and the variety of colors Lydia had so carefully organized. Between her and her staff members, several sample projects had been knitted and were artfully displayed around the shop.

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever been in a yarn store before,” Shannon said, and handed Lydia a second business card.

  “Welcome, then. I hope when we’re finished that you’ll feel free to look around. I thought we could talk at the table in the back.” Lydia pointed toward the section of the store where the staff taught classes. The table was used for social knitting as well.

  “I appreciate your willingness to chat with me when the shop is technically closed,” Shannon said, following Lydia.

  “I’m happy to do it.”

  Shannon pulled out a chair and then removed a tablet from her purse. “Would it be all right for me to record our conversation?”

  “Of course.” Brad had told her to expect to be recorded. “I went online and read a few of your articles. I like the way you close each with that little play on your name. And I’m not kidding.”

  “Thanks. I try.” Shannon set her cellphone on the tabletop. “Spell your surname for me so I’m sure I have it right.”

  “Goetz. G-O-E-T-Z.”

  “Perfect. Thank you. From what I understood when we spoke briefly on Sunday, these baskets with the yarn and needles are as much a surprise to you as anyone.”

  “Very much so.”

  “You don’t have any idea who is delivering these around the neighborhood?”

  Casey had her suspicions, and Brad had mentioned a couple of names, too. “None whatsoever.”

  Shannon made a quick notation. “But your store is involved in charity knitting?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lydia felt herself starting to relax as she told the reporter about the preemie-cap program for local hospitals. She brought a few of the most recent donations over for Shannon to inspect.

  “We’re also involved in Warm Up America! and Knit for Kids, which is a World Vision program.”

  “And now scarves for the homeless,” Shannon added.

  “Indirectly.” Lydia didn’t want the reporter to give her credit when none was due. “Like I said, I’m not the one responsible for these special scarves, although I’ve certainly knit for each of the charities I mentioned. My customers are the ones with the big hearts. I’ve discovered that knitters are caring and generous.”

  “In other words, A Good Yarn provides an outlet for your customers to reach out to help others.”

  “You could say that, yes.” Lydia felt she had the most wonderful, loyal customer base anywhere. Many who routinely shopped at the store had become her dearest friends. Alix for sure; Carol and Elise, who now worked for her part-time; and Bethanne, too. Her mind crowded with names and faces, such dear, dear friends.

  This yarn store had also given Lydia a relationship with her sister. Because of her health issues as a teen and young adult, Lydia had never felt close to Margaret. Her sister had deeply resented all the attention Lydia received because of the cancer. It was the yarn store that had brought them together. That and caring for their mother.

  The interview didn’t take long. By the end of it, Shannon expressed a desire to sign up for the beginning knitting class.

  “I hope you do.”

  “I’m not kidding,” she joked as Lydia let her out the front door.

  With the interview finished, Lydia returned to her office, looked at the ledger, and realized once more that while she wasn’t making money hand over fist, there remained several benefits to owning A Good Yarn. Benefits that far exceeded the balance in her checkbook.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bethanne noticed that Annie managed to avoid her all week, which was ridiculous. Clearly Annie remained upset with Max, and evidently with Bethanne, too. So be it. It was time her daughter accepted the fact that Bethanne and Max were married and intended to stay that way.

  From what Max had told her, Annie’s attitude toward him had come to a head Sunday afternoon. Bethanne had the feeling she’d managed to miss the worst of their confrontation, which was probably for the best. Being stuck in the middle between the two of them would have been uncomfortable to say the least.

  It was little wonder Max had asked her to uproot and sell the business and move to California if it meant no longer having to deal with her daughter and ex-husband. Who could blame him? Never did Bethanne suspect that her marriage would cause such an upheaval in her relationship with her daughter.

  It was true Annie had always felt close to Grant; she was his little girl, and his darling who could do no wrong. Her daughter had taken it especially hard when Grant asked for the divorce. And she’d been the first to champion Grant when it became apparent his marriage to Tiffany was in trouble. The moment the divorce was final, Annie was convinced her parents would eventually reunite. Max had ruined the vision Annie held in her mind of the perfect family.

  However, by then Bethanne’s eyes were wide open when it came to her ex-husband. Not for an instant did she trust his claims of undying love. Nor was she the same woman Grant had left. Her life was different now, and so was she.

  By mid-afternoon on Wednesday Bethanne had had enough with the silent treatment from her daughter. She called Annie’s extension and asked her to come to the office.

  Fifteen minutes later, Annie arrived. Her bad attitude seemed to radiate off her the instant she walked into the room. She stood in front of Bethanne’s desk, looking straight ahead, with her arms folded tightly over her chest. The sour look on her face could curdle milk.

  “Sit down, Annie,” she said softly.

  Reluctantly, her daughter took a seat. Her spine remained rigid, and she seemed completely unwilling to meet Bethanne’s gaze.

  “Can you give me an update on the Costco employee picnic?” Bethanne asked, deciding to ease into this difficult conversation with a business discussion first.

  Annie visibly relaxed and went into a detailed report of the progress of the party plans for the Kirkland, Washington-based company. While Annie spoke, Bethanne stood and walked over to the window, which looked out over the city. While appreciating the view, she listened intently as her daughter gave the report, stopping her once or twice with questions.

  When it came to the business side of their relationship, they were on solid ground. Annie had proved to be an asset to the company, taking on the responsibility of handling their corporate clients. Her ideas were good, and she’d proved herself to be more than capable of dealing with these larger accounts.

  When she’d finished, Bethanne praised her daughter’s efforts. “It sounds like you have everything under control.”

  “I had excellent
training,” she said, complimenting Bethanne.

  Bethanne walked around to the front of her desk and leaned her backside against the edge. “On a completely different subject—”

  “Are you going to berate me about Max? If you are, then I’m leaving right now.”

  So that was the way it was going to be. “Berating you wasn’t my intention. You’re an adult and fully capable of making your own decisions. It’s highly unlikely anything I say will change your attitude toward Max. It would be foolish of me to try.”

  “I don’t like him, Mom. If you’d heard the horrible, ugly things he said to me, you wouldn’t be so quick to defend him.”

  “I didn’t defend him, and I won’t defend you to him, either. What happened is between the two of you.” If Max had been disrespectful to her daughter, then it went without saying that he’d been provoked. Annie was certainly capable of being argumentative and belligerent.

  “He’s not a good person, Mom.”

  Bethanne held up her hand, stopping her. “I believe you’ve already made your dislike of Max abundantly clear.”

  “Good,” Annie snapped. “Because you need to hear it.”

  “How you feel toward Max doesn’t change my love for him,” Bethanne said, and crossed her arms.

  Annie’s face tightened, and her eyes narrowed with impertinence. “I’ll never accept him as my stepfather.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” It was important that Annie understood this. “What I’m asking is that you accept him as my husband.”

  Annie’s eyes flashed first with defiance and then confusion. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that Max and I are married. He lives with me when he can, which unfortunately for the time being isn’t full-time. We’re hoping to change that in the near future.”

  “Is he moving to Seattle?” Annie demanded, as though this was the worst possible news.

  “We don’t know yet. It’s one option.”

  It took a moment for the meaning to soak into Annie’s stubborn brain. “You’re not saying that you’re moving to California full-time?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know yet. That’s another possibility, and one we’re thinking through carefully.”