A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(63)

I signed the loan papers the first Monday in August. The summer was flying by, and I hadn’t accomplished any of what I’d hoped. Earlier in the spring, Brad had promised to build me additional shelves for the yarn. We’d spent a few very satisfying Sunday afternoons working everything out on paper, measuring and designing the cubicles so they’d fit properly. I’d looked forward to helping him build them; so had Cody.

I needed new shelves, but that would have to wait, along with an idea I wanted to borrow from another store. In almost every yarn shop, space is a major consideration. There are so many new yarns and hand-dyed wools available that displaying them could be difficult. The particular store I’d visited in the north end of King County suspended hanks of brightly colored hand-dyed wool from the ceiling. It was clever and effective, and I’d hoped to do the same thing in a small section of A Good Yarn. Brad had said he’d place the screws in the ceiling for me.

I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own, but I hadn’t done it. For some reason, I didn’t seem able to move forward. Every improvement Brad and I had discussed, I’d put off. I just didn’t have the heart for it.

Once I’d deposited the check in my account and had a cashier’s check made out to Margaret, I drove to my sister’s house. We’d talked briefly on Sunday and I’d casually asked her if she had any plans for today. Nothing much, she’d told me.

Margaret was outside watering her flower beds when I parked on the street. Absorbed in thought, she apparently didn’t hear or see me.

“Hey, big sister!” I called out in order to get her attention.

She started at the sound of my voice, and her hand jerked, sending a spray of water onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?” she snapped.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“This couldn’t have waited until Tuesday?”

“Not really.”

Margaret is always gruff when she’s upset. Over the past year, I’d learned a great deal about her personality. She’ll never be a vivacious, friendly sort of person, and I don’t think she really knows how brusque she often sounds. She’d been a big help to me—still is—and while I pay her a salary, she could make a higher wage elsewhere. I wanted to do something for her and Matt, just…just because she’s my sister. Just so she’d know how much I love her.

“Do you need anything?” Margaret asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“A glass of iced tea would be nice.”

Margaret hesitated before agreeing with a sigh and a nod of her head. She walked over to the side of the house, turned off the water and marched up the porch steps.

I followed her into the house and immediately saw the cardboard boxes cluttering the living room.

“We can’t make the payment deadline, so there’s no use pretending we can,” Margaret said before I could ask. “We have until Friday before the bank files an eviction notice. It’s bad enough to lose the house, but I don’t want to drag my family through the humiliation of being evicted.”

In the kitchen, too, I saw a number of boxes stacked in the corner. I was grateful I’d managed to get the loan when I did.

“I probably shouldn’t worry about watering the yard,” Margaret commented, “but I had to get out of here for a while.” She took two tumblers from the cupboard. “It’s just too depressing.”

“I thought it was best to talk to you right away,” I said, leading carefully into the reason for my visit. “Instead of waiting until morning,” I added.

“Talk to me about what?” Setting the glasses on the table, Margaret sat down across from me.

“You know how much I appreciate the fact that you’re working with me,” I said.

“But?” she said cynically.

“But nothing.”

Her eyes widened. “You aren’t going to fire me?”

“Why would I fire you? I need you. No, I’m here to help.”

Again Margaret had a suspicious look. “Help me do what? Pack up our belongings?”

I decided it was pointless to discuss this when I was sitting with a cashier’s check in my purse. I opened my handbag and handed it to Margaret.

My sister took the check, read it, then frowned across the table at me. “Where did you get this money?” she demanded. “You went to Mom, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said. One thing my sister had in abundance was pride. She’d absolutely insisted Mom not know about this. I’d kept my promise and hadn’t breathed a word to our mother.

“I got a bank loan,” I said, unable to squelch my glee. “Think of it, Margaret. This is a huge step forward for me. A bank was willing to lend me money.” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “That says something, doesn’t it? They seem to think I’m a good risk.”

My sister held the check with both hands as if she were afraid to release it. “What did you tell the bank?”

“They didn’t ask too many questions.” A slight exaggeration. I’d been drilled by one officer and then another, and I’d filled out as many forms as if I were being admitted to the hospital.

“You used the shop as collateral?”

I nodded. “It’s all I have.” That was true. My entire future, all I have and all I ever hope to have, is tied up in my yarn store.