A Good Yarn

  They left Pacific Place and walked a few blocks north. Annie chatted along the way, talking about music and school, and she seemed almost grateful for the company. When the Space Needle came into view, Courtney realized they were close to the Seattle Center.

  Several kids had already assembled in a parking lot not far from the Center. A tall thin boy with long, greasy hair climbed out of his car, a beat-up old hatchback, when Annie approached.

  “Who’s she?” he asked, gesturing toward Courtney, whom he eyed suspiciously.

  “That’s Courtney,” Annie said. “She’s cool.”

  “Hi.” Courtney raised her hand.

  “I’m Chris,” he said as he grabbed Annie around the waist and pulled her against him.

  This guy gave Courtney the creeps, but he and Annie obviously had some kind of relationship.

  “You got the stuff?” Annie asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” she said with a saucy laugh.

  From the way the two of them acted, whispering and laughing together, Courtney assumed they were about to take off without her. They were both inside the vehicle when Chris leaned over the backseat and opened the rear passenger door.

  “Get in,” he said. “If Annie says you’re cool, you’re cool.”

  Courtney reluctantly clambered into the backseat; the moment she’d gotten into the vehicle, Chris roared out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?” she asked, searching for a seat belt. There didn’t seem to be one.

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” Annie told her.

  They drove for a while, taking various back streets, and went up and down several others. Although she tried to keep track, Courtney got too confused. She did figure out that they must be somewhere near the waterfront because she saw warehouses and heard a blast from an incoming ferry. By now it was after eight.

  Chris parked and Annie slid out of the front seat. “Come on,” she shouted to Courtney.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “A rave.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know what a rave is?” Annie sounded incredulous.

  “Sure I do,” Courtney said, but she’d never been to one. They were illegal in Chicago and probably Seattle, too.

  “You ever done ecstasy?” Chris asked, looping his arm around Annie’s neck.

  Courtney stood back and shook her head.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Annie assured her. “I’ll get you some.”

  “No, thanks…I, uh, think I’ll just watch the first time.”

  Annie glanced at Chris, who shrugged. “No problem.”

  The warehouse was dark and the music so loud it was actually painful. After a few minutes, Courtney’s eyes adjusted and she strained to see what was happening around her. Couples were dancing, some frenetically. Other people were on the side, guzzling drinks—bottles of water, it looked like, and beer. They seemed oblivious to what was going on around them. A fog of smoke hung over the room, and Courtney recognized the pungent scent of marijuana.

  Almost immediately Annie and Chris were on the dance floor. Courtney kept an eye on her. She knew Annie was angry and probably depressed; she’d seen it the night of the baseball game. She’d gone through a difficult time herself after her mother died. Her grades fell and she’d started hanging around with the wrong crowd, getting into minor kinds of trouble. Only she’d been younger, so boys hadn’t been as much of an issue. And she’d smartened up before things could escalate—to raves and drugs. Still, she’d done some pretty stupid stuff that she regretted now and she didn’t want Annie to go through what she had.

  Moving as far back as she could, while still watching Annie, Courtney nearly stumbled over a man squatting in the corner. Her eyes widened as she saw him insert a needle into his arm. After injecting the drug—heroin? She didn’t know—he leaned his head back, then slumped to the ground.

  Annie staggered off the floor. “Dance!” she demanded of Courtney. “Don’t be such a drag.”

  “Okay.” Courtney moved closer to the dancers and lifted her arms up and down like a monkey. She felt stupid, awkward and out of place. Julianna would have her head on a platter if she ever learned about this. Forget her dad; Courtney’s big sister would be furious. But Courtney was stuck now and had no idea where she was or how she’d ever find her way home.

  Annie was acting weird, weirder than before. She and Chris were deeply absorbed in each other. The music was loud and the entire place seemed to reverberate with it. Despite the darkened room, Courtney saw Annie’s purse slip from her shoulder to the floor and ran over to grab it. Neither Annie nor Chris appeared to notice.

  The more she watched the other girl, the more concerned she became. Annie was high. Out of control. She was flinging herself around the dance floor, clutching at Chris, sweating profusely. Nearly desperate, Courtney dug around in Annie’s large purse, past the discarded clothes, until she found a cell phone. Annie needed help. She might not appreciate the interference, but Courtney felt she had to do something and fast. Scrolling down the address book, she paused at the second name. She had to phone either Bethanne or Andrew. Annie was more likely to forgive her for contacting her brother. She hit the key and pressed the phone to her ear, struggling to hear above the din of the music.

  It rang four times before Andrew answered. “What?” he demanded irritably.

  “Andrew, it’s Courtney.”

  “Why are you calling me from my sister’s cell?”

  “Annie’s in trouble and I don’t know what to do.” She didn’t want to overstate the problem, nor did she feel she should downplay it.

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” she shouted, struggling to be heard. “We’re somewhere on the waterfront, in a warehouse. It’s a rave. Oh, no!”

  “What?”

  Courtney hurried back to the dance door. “Annie’s topless,” she said in horror. “She’s doing drugs. Ecstasy, I think.” She walked toward the doors, where it was marginally quieter.

  “Is she with Chris?”

  “Yes.” Courtney had left the building now and was surprised to see that it was completely dark out.

  Andrew swore. “I think I know where you are. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Relief washed over her.

  “Stay with Annie,” he instructed her.

  “I will.”

  “And Courtney, listen.” He hesitated. “Thanks.” He clicked off, abruptly ending the conversation.

  Courtney ran back inside and frantically searched the room until she found Annie. She had her legs wrapped around a man, her head thrown back and her arms flaying about to some earsplitting tempo. Chris was with another girl, a spike-haired brunette, and although Courtney couldn’t be sure, it looked as if they were in the middle of sex. Courtney turned away, unwilling to watch. She alternated between rushing outside to flag down Andrew and checking on Annie. An eternity passed before she saw Andrew pull up outside the warehouse in Bethanne’s car.

  “Where is she?” he shouted, running toward Courtney. He carried a plaid blanket he’d obviously brought with him.

  “Inside. She’s with some guy I’ve never seen before.” She didn’t want to say it, but she was terrified of what Andrew would find when he located his sister. In all likelihood, Annie would never forgive her. Still, Courtney was convinced that Annie didn’t know what she was doing, or with whom.

  “Wait here,” he told her, his eyes hard.

  Although it was difficult, she did what he asked. She feared Andrew might need help, that Annie would fight him and others might get involved. She conjured up such frightening scenarios that by the time he appeared, carrying his sister, Courtney was ready to phone the police.

  “Is she all right?” Courtney asked anxiously. Annie seemed half-unconscious, her head lolling back. She was wrapped in the blanket, and Courtney admired Andrew’s thoughtfulness in bringing it.

  His mouth in a tight line, Andr
ew nodded. “Help me get her in the car,” he ordered.

  Working together, they got Annie into the backseat. Courtney reached into Annie’s purse, producing the blouse she’d worn earlier in the evening, and managed to push Annie’s arms through the sleeves. The girl offered no help and stared up at them, dazed and senseless. Once Courtney had buttoned it, Annie fell across the backseat. Andrew lifted his sister’s legs so that she was completely prone and draped her with the blanket.

  “Did you have fun?” She raised her head enough to ask Courtney in a slurred voice.

  “Oh, yeah,” Courtney muttered, and climbed into the front seat next to Andrew.

  “Lie down and shut up,” Andrew told his sister.

  She started to groan when they took off. Courtney thought she heard sirens in the distance; whether they had anything to do with the rave or not, she didn’t know.

  “What’s wrong?” Courtney asked. She didn’t need to clarify her question. Andrew knew what she meant.

  “Annie and my dad were close,” he said from between gritted teeth. “My sister hasn’t adjusted to the divorce, as you could no doubt tell on Monday night. It’s like she’s trying to make my parents regret what they did. The thing she doesn’t understand is how badly she’s hurting herself.”

  “I don’t want her to get angry with me.”

  “She won’t,” Andrew promised.

  “How can you be so sure?” Courtney believed she understood his sister far better than Andrew would ever know. Annie felt as if she’d lost her father; Courtney knew what it was like to lose a parent. Her own life had changed irrevocably the minute her mother died. Nothing was or would ever be the same again. She wouldn’t walk into the house after school and hear her mother’s voice. There wouldn’t be any more of the special traditions Courtney treasured. The world had become a smaller place, a crueler place, without her mother. She didn’t criticize Annie for using drugs. Courtney had chosen another addiction to dull her pain—food. It’d taken her four years to find the resolve to break free of this self-imposed punishment.

  Courtney turned toward him. “I want to talk to Annie later, all right?” she said.

  Andrew looked away from the road long enough to make eye contact with her. “She needs professional help.”

  “I know.” Courtney just hoped Annie got that help before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Most of us knit these garments for someone special. In doing so, we let our love and loving thoughts for one another grow, a single stitch at a time.”

  —Eugene Bourgeois, The Philosopher’s Wool Co.,

  Inverhuron, Ontario.

  www.philosopherswool.com

  LYDIA HOFFMAN

  Somehow I made it through the Fourth of July, thanks to my family. Matt and Margaret were so good to me, and Mom only asked about Brad once. I don’t know what Margaret said, but his name was conspicuously absent from our conversations for the rest of the day.

  Mom seemed especially quiet and even a bit confused. I spent as much time with her as I could, talking to her about the garden, the yarn shop, a TV show we’d both seen. My thoughts were with Brad, though, and with Cody. I experienced my grief as physical pain, as an ache in my chest—I think that’s what people mean when they talk about a broken heart. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it: that Janice was with them and I wasn’t. I tried hard to remember that Cody needed his mother.

  After our barbecued chicken, coleslaw and corn—an all-American feast—I brought out a box of assorted pastries from the French Café. I’d included some cream puffs and napoleons, which were Alix’s specialties. I hoped to see her on Friday at the shop. Once we’d finished dessert I took Mom home; she was too tired by then to wait for darkness to fall and the fireworks to begin.

  We gathered, Matt, Margaret and I, to watch the fireworks, and as they burst over the Seattle skyline, tears rolled down my cheeks. I’d hardly ever felt more wretched or alone.

  I wasn’t good company. It’d been almost two weeks, and I knew I could make it if I didn’t think about the future, if I coped with one day at a time. If I could get through today, I told myself, I’d find the courage to confront the next day and the next.

  It didn’t help that Brad continued to work the same route. Tuesday morning he told Margaret he’d requested a transfer but had been denied. I believed him. Last year, when I’d ended our relationship, he’d applied for—and received—a transfer and then later, when things were settled between us, he’d requested his old route back. Now the powers that be were obviously tired of this. So we were stuck seeing each other on a regular basis.

  After weeks of depression over Matt’s unexpected job loss, Margaret seemed to have cheered up considerably. I didn’t know if this was an act for my benefit. In any case, I chose to believe that because Margaret loves me, she was trying to bolster my mood and create a supportive environment. I valued her support and this new tenderness.

  I also needed Margaret as a buffer between Brad and me. He’d been in the shop four or five times since our last conversation and, thankfully, my sister was available to deal with him. This saved me, because I wasn’t ready to pretend our relationship was merely casual. I couldn’t speak to him without letting my emotions show and that would’ve humiliated me all the more.

  Besides Margaret, one of my few comforts during this bleak time was the charity knitting group. They came Friday afternoons to work on a number of projects. When I first suggested this idea, my original class decided that they’d knit patches for Warm Up America. The nine-by-seven-inch pieces are crocheted together by Margaret to form blankets. This is her contribution to the effort. The patches make for an easy project, and each requires only a small commitment of time. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix lead busy lives, so this worked well for them. They also liked the idea of being involved in the same projects.

  Elise wanted to come, but hadn’t yet. I’d given her some donated yarn and she was knitting a blanket for the Linus Project at home. Alix had knit a couple of blankets for them, too, between classes at the Seattle Cooking Academy and her part-time job at the French Café.

  Margaret was in the store when all three of the women from my original class showed up on Friday afternoon. She’d become as fond of them as I had. The first to arrive was Jacqueline.

  “I’m back,” she announced as she swept into the shop. Jacqueline was always one to make an entrance. Margaret and I have come to love the way she broadcasts her arrival, although at one time it annoyed me. As always, Jacqueline looked like the society matron she is, every hair in place. She once told me never to discount the effectiveness of a good hair spray. I would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been serious.

  I’ve given up trying to keep track of all the traveling Jacqueline and Reece do. In the past year, they’d been on a cruise in the Greek islands, a walking tour of England’s Lake District and most recently they went salmon fishing in Alaska. That, according to Jacqueline, was a longtime dream of her husband’s. To my utter amazement, she loved it and even brought me some smoked salmon.

  “How are you?” Jacqueline asked, gazing into my eyes. She didn’t wait for a response before pulling me into a tight hug.

  “I’m okay,” I lied.

  She took her place at the table and brought out her knitting. Her patch was knit in super-wash, hand-dyed wool at fourteen dollars a skein, but that was Jacqueline. Price was rarely a consideration. And in her generosity, she always bought her own yarn for the charity projects, rather than accepting donated leftovers from me.

  “I see I’m the first one here,” she said, looking around. This was unusual in itself. “Well, I’ve got great news and I’ll tell you first.” She smiled widely. “Tammy Lee’s pregnant again! Reece and I are beside ourselves.”

  I remember how she’d once objected strenuously to her southern daughter-in-law and called her “white trash” and a “breeder.” My friend had experienced a change of heart, largely due to Tammy Lee’s patience and her loving personali
ty—as Jacqueline’s the first to admit. Jacqueline adores little Amelia and I was sure she’d feel exactly the same about this new baby.

  “It’s a girl and she’s due in February around Valentine’s Day.” Her eyes lit up. “Isn’t that perfect?” She smiled again. “I want to look through your baby patterns later. There’s knitting to be done!”

  As we laughed, the door opened and Carol came in. I was mildly surprised to find she was by herself.

  “Where’s Cameron?” I asked. The baby had been a miracle, one that had happened last year. Carol and Doug had tried desperately for a baby through in vitro fertilization. They had their son now, but he’d been adopted—truly a child of their hearts. That was thanks to Alix, whose roommate had been secretly and unhappily pregnant.

  “Doug has the day off, so Cam’s with his daddy,” Carol explained as she sat down next to Jacqueline. They exchanged greetings and she took out her knitting. It was wonderful to see her. With a toddler underfoot she couldn’t participate every week. If she did stop by, it was during Cameron’s nap-time. She’d park the stroller by the table and stay only until her son woke up. Her child was the delight of her life; he brought her the greatest happiness imaginable. She’d told me that she and Doug were closer than ever, both of them completely dedicated to Cameron. I wanted to tell her to hold on to this joy, to cling to it, because—as I’d learned two weeks ago—happiness can disappear all too fast.

  Carol’s knitting needles clicked rapidly as she worked on her section of the blanket. She was a fearless knitter who loved a challenge. I’d showed her the two-needle technique for socks and she’d basically taught herself the rest. “I heard from my brother the other day,” she said, frowning. “He’s remarried.”