Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(83)

“Correction. I should have said that for a child who has been part of the foster program and is going through puberty, this isn’t uncommon. Many have nightmares in varying degrees of intensity. It sounds like Casey’s case might be severe.”

This was worse than anything Lydia had ever encountered. “The best advice I can offer you,” Evelyn continued, “is to get Casey into counseling.”

Lydia was almost afraid that would be Evelyn’s suggestion. “Brad and I have already talked about that.”

“I can recommend several excellent counselors.”

Lydia nodded. “It’s just that when I checked with a couple of the ones our family physician mentioned, the cost was prohibitive for what Brad and I can currently afford.”

“I have the names of a few excellent counselors who charge on a sliding scale, according to the family income.”

Lydia nodded again. “I’d appreciate getting those names.”

Evelyn got out her cellphone and shared the information with Lydia.

“Thank you.” She was genuinely appreciative.

Not long after Evelyn left, Lauren Elliott arrived, bringing along the baby blanket she was knitting for her pregnant sister. She’d purchased the yarn weeks earlier but hadn’t knit much beyond the border, which was only a few inches. Then over the course of the last two days the new knitter had completed nearly half the blanket. As far as Lydia could tell, Lauren must have spent every available moment with knitting needles in her hands.

“I made a mistake,” Lauren said, pulling the project out of the colorful quilted bag.

“Let me take a look,” Lydia said, keeping an eye on the door, watching for customers.

Lauren spread the project out on the table and pointed to the error. “The stitch count is off now, too.”

“Yes, it would be.” Lydia examined the mistake. It wasn’t glaring and could be easily overlooked.

“Do I need to rip it out?” Lauren asked.

“You could fudge it.” Lydia had done that often enough herself.

“Yes, I suppose, but I’d always know it was there, and it’s a gift for my sister, and …” she let the rest fade.

Lydia understood. If she could live with the mistake, she let it be, but like Lauren, if the project was a gift, then she took a closer look. “Feeling the way you do, I suggest you frog it.”

“Frog it?”

“Rip it, rip it, rip it.”

Lauren’s smile was only momentary.

Lydia didn’t know what had happened in Lauren’s personal life, but clearly something had. She’d always known the other woman to be friendly and happy, not in an effervescent way, but polite and sociable. The last couple days, when Lauren had visited the shop, she’d barely said a word. She seemed caught up in her own thoughts and didn’t welcome conversation.

Whatever was troubling her seemed to be coming out on the needles as well, Lydia noticed. Her tension was extremely tight, making it almost impossible to move the stitches on the bamboo needles. Just the day before, Lydia had teased Lauren and explained that she needed to relax. She wasn’t knitting armor.

“Would you like me to unravel it for you?” Lydia asked, knowing how irksome it could be to undo a project.

“Please.”

Lydia pulled out a chair, sat down next to the other woman, and took the blanket off the needles, tugging at the yarn, which was so tight it took effort to slide it free.

“I don’t know that I can watch,” Lauren said, looking away.

“Don’t,” Lydia advised. “Frogging hurts, no matter how experienced a knitter you are.”

Lauren looked back at her and asked with surprise in her voice, “You mean to say you make knitting errors, too?”

“All the time,” Lydia assured her. “I misread a pattern or get distracted. Mistakes happen.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lauren said with feeling.

Lydia looked at her and saw tears form in her eyes. Lauren struggled to hide them, and, not wanting to embarrass the other woman, Lydia pretended not to notice.

After a few minutes, Lydia put the stitches back on the needle and handed the blanket to Lauren. “There you go; it’s good as new.”

Lauren thanked her and placed the project back inside the quilted bag. “You wouldn’t by chance have happened to see Bethanne lately, have you?” she asked.

“No,” Lydia explained. “But then, I’ve been away from the shop a good deal this week. My mother’s been in the hospital.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I hope she’s doing well.”

“She’s much better; thanks for asking.”

“I should give Bethanne a call,” Lauren said, almost as if she were speaking to herself. With that, she left the shop. Watching her go, Lydia felt as if Lauren Elliott must be deeply concerned about something.

Margaret arrived a little before noon, and within a few minutes Lydia was free to leave. She phoned Casey before she left the shop, grateful that her daughter now had her own cellphone.

“How’s it going with Grandma?” Lydia asked.

“She’s looking much better today.”

How cheerful and upbeat Casey sounded. A stark contrast to only a few hours earlier, when she’d woken up screaming in terror.