Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(20)

“Bring me my knitting,” Mary Lou said, as Lydia quietly left the apartment. Her mother rarely knit any longer, and following even the simplest instructions seemed beyond her. While grateful that her mother was alive, Lydia worried about Mary Lou’s quality of life. It distressed her to watch her mother’s physical and mental health decline. Arthritis made movement difficult, and she spent a good portion of her day in her chair in front of the television. The assisted-living complex scheduled a variety of events to keep the residents’ bodies and minds active. When her mother had first moved into the complex she’d participated in a few of the social gatherings, but no longer.

Lydia walked to the elevator and pushed the button. An aide joined her. “You’re Mrs. Hoffman’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Lydia responded with an automatic smile. The aide’s badge said her name was Marie.

“The one who owns the yarn store.”

“Yes,” Lydia confirmed.

“I wanted you to know I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing.”

“Thank you.” Lydia had a number of charity projects going at A Good Yarn. Early on she’d discovered that knitters were, by nature, generous. With little encouragement on Lydia’s part, many of her regular customers volunteered knitted items for a variety of charities. Several knit hats or sweaters for World Vision’s Knit for Kids program, and then there were others who contributed knitted squares to Warm Up America! from yarn left over from their projects. And of course there were the tiny caps the shop collected for the area’s hospital preemies.

“I found the knitting basket at the bowling alley where my husband is in a league,” Marie added.

“The bowling alley?”

“That is you, isn’t it?” Marie asked. “The yarn had a sticker that said it was from A Good Yarn shop.”

The confusion must have shown on Lydia’s face because Marie added, “I had my book group on Tuesday night and my husband is in a league with the guys from work. He drives a Pepsi delivery truck. After the meeting with my book club, I stopped off to see how Les’s bowling team was doing, and I found the basket with the yarn and needles.”

“Were there instructions?”

“Not really. It was more of an invitation to sit down and knit. I think the note said when the scarf was finished it should be delivered to a homeless shelter or dropped off at your yarn store. You aren’t the one doing this?” Marie questioned.

“No.”

“I just assumed from the yarn label and instructions that you must be responsible.”

“I heard about this just recently. It’s a great idea; I wish I could say I’d thought of it, but I didn’t.”

“No harm done,” Marie said, as they stepped into the waiting elevator.

Lydia mulled over the conversation as she drove home. When she walked into the house, the scent of simmering tomatoes with Italian spices confirmed her suspicions. Brad had cooked spaghetti.

“Is that you, sweetheart?” her husband called out. He peeked his head around the opening to the kitchen and grinned when he saw it was Lydia. “Dinner’s just about ready. Cody’s got the bread and the salad on the table. How’s your mother?”

“She thought I was Margaret,” Lydia said, as she removed her sweater and tucked away her purse. “The oddest thing has been happening,” she said, coming into the kitchen. The pot on the stove boiled furiously. She reached over and turned off the burner while Brad removed the strainer from the lower cupboard and set it in the sink.

“What’s that?” he asked, steam rising from the cooked pasta as he carried the boiling pot to the sink and drained off the liquid.

“Someone is leaving baskets with knitting needles and yarn around town with a note asking people to knit for the homeless.”

“Really?”

“The yarn is apparently from my shop.”

Her husband was preoccupied with mixing the sauce and the noodles together and setting it on the table.

Lydia brought out the silverware. “Will you keep an eye out for one of these knitting baskets?”

Brad looked up at her, paused, and blinked, and Lydia guessed that the entire conversation had gone directly over his head.

“What was that, sweetie?”

“Never mind,” she said, grinning. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Cody!” Brad shouted. “Dinner.”

This was her life, Lydia mused, and it was good.

Chapter Eight

Max was exhausted, butt-sore, and ecstatic.

He’d followed Bethanne home from the yarn store on his bike and parked it in the empty slot in her garage. Other than a few items of clothing, he’d packed light. From the trips he’d made to Seattle since their marriage, he kept enough of a wardrobe at Bethanne’s not to worry about bringing much with him.

Bethanne waited for him by the garage door that led into her kitchen. Her eyes were all over him as though even now she couldn’t believe he was with her. Max’s feelings matched hers, although he felt they needed to discuss a number of issues. With this trip, he wanted to settle the matter with her ex-husband once and for all.

While this house was the one Bethanne had once shared with Grant, Max wasn’t comfortable with her ex-husband stopping by anytime he pleased. He might be exaggerating, but it seemed Grant found an excuse to connect with Bethanne nearly every day. It had gotten out of hand, and if she didn’t recognize it, he did.