A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(19)
“This isn’t the easiest situation,” Aurora continued.
Elise rolled her eyes toward the sky. “That’s putting it mildly.” Then she instantly felt another wave of guilt.
“I need you to work with me, Mom, not against me.”
“I would never do anything to hurt you,” Elise told her daughter, hiding her distress that Aurora would even imply such a thing.
“But you want to hurt Dad.”
“That’s not true,” Elise denied hotly. “I don’t have any feelings toward your father one way or the other.” That was a lie and her face flushed with color as she said it.
“Mo—ther,” her daughter cried, challenge in each over-enunciated syllable. “You have so many unresolved issues with Dad, it would take days to list them all.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Her daughter knew her well, but at this moment what mattered was maintaining a pretense of complete indifference. Somehow she’d survive these two weeks.
Aurora sampled her iced tea for the first time, her knuckles white around the glass. “I don’t want to get into that with you, especially now. I need your word that you won’t say or do anything, and I mean anything, to upset Dad.”
“I would never—”
“It’s crucial to keep the peace. I don’t want to subject the boys to your anger toward Dad.”
Elise was upset that her daughter could believe she’d be the one to cause problems. “You have my word I will do whatever I can to make your father’s stay as pleasant as possible.” If that meant hiding in her room for the next two weeks, then so be it.
“Don’t promise this lightly, Mom. It’s the most important request I’ve ever made of you.”
Elise wondered again whether she should move out and save them all this grief. Sadly, she had nowhere else to go. She was stuck in the same house with the man she’d both loved and hated for the last thirty-seven years.
CHAPTER 7
“Well-fitting and carefully knitted handmade socks are the ‘real’ ones; the store-bought variety are just pale imitations.”
LYDIA HOFFMAN
This was my first sock class and I was excited about our one-o’clock gathering. In the last year, I’ve taught several classes, and I’ve learned in the course of teaching that it’s critical to have the right mix of personalities. I had my doubts about the women making up this class, but I didn’t want to borrow trouble.
The personalities of the three women who’d enrolled for this one reminded me of my first knitting class the year before. Elise, Bethanne and Courtney had nothing in common that I could see, except a desire to knit. I’d felt the same way about the baby blanket class with Jacqueline, Carol and Alix. They were as different as any three women could be and yet we’d all forged enduring friendships in a remarkably short time. I continued to marvel over that and hoped history would repeat itself, although I didn’t really expect it. Generally I’m not a pessimist—unlike my sister—but Elise Beaumont struck me as unyielding and circumspect, so self-contained. Bethanne Hamlin, judging by our brief meeting, was nervous and jittery, ready to run and hide at the slightest noise. Courtney Pulanski was a teenager. I felt sorry for her—the poor kid looked aghast when her grandmother insisted on signing her up. Unfortunately, I just didn’t see these three people as a good mix.
I cast a glance toward Margaret, who was busy with a customer as I prepared for the class. This morning, first thing, I’d given my sister an opportunity to open up to me about Matt’s work situation, but she remained closemouthed. I found it difficult to disguise my disappointment, but I didn’t feel I could let on what I knew. Nor did I want to pressure my sister into confiding in me. My heart ached for her—and for me, too. I had a dozen questions I was dying to ask; among my other concerns, I wanted to know how my nieces, Julia and Hailey, were handling this. I’ve always been close to them, and I believed they would have mentioned it to me unless Margaret had forbidden it. In some ways, I could understand my sister’s reluctance, but that didn’t make me feel any better.
The bell above the door chimed and Elise Beaumont walked into the shop. She wasn’t what I’d call a warm, friendly person, but she’d been cordial enough on our first meeting. This morning, however, she radiated displeasure. She also looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. Had I known her longer I might have asked, but since she was a new customer, I decided against it. Oh dear, this class was not getting off to a good start.
“Good morning.” I hoped my greeting would draw her out, but she frowned at me.
“I need to know how long this class will take.”
I reached for the flyer Margaret had made on the computer and handed it to her as a reminder. “Two hours.”
“I suppose that’ll be all right.” With a glum expression, Elise pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, placing her knitting bag in her lap.
I remembered that she’d already chosen what she’d need for the class—a self-patterning yarn in light blue with specks of gray and black. Presumably she’d be knitting her socks for a man.
No sooner was Elise at the table than Bethanne entered, dressed rather formally, in my opinion, followed almost immediately by Courtney, who couldn’t have looked less formal in her jeans and oversize T-shirt. Without a word they each walked to the back of the store and took a seat at the table, as far apart as possible.