Blackberry Summer (17 page)

T
HIS TIME WHEN
R
ILEY
worked out in her yard, Claire forced herself not to gawk out the window at him. She focused instead on her first beading project since the accident, a fairly simple bracelet she was making out of recycled glass beads from Ghana in lovely aqua tones, with metalwork starfish charms.

She had her supplies set out in the family room—the beads, the spacers, the pliers and cutters—but the limitations of a broken arm presented definite challenges. Claire had sympathy for some of the senior citizens she used to teach at the community center, their hands gnarled and swollen from arthritis.

Usually she found a quiet sort of peace when she worked, the tactile pleasure of the textures and shapes, the unmatched delight of creating something beautiful from only her imagination, her ever-growing bead collection and a little hard work. But this afternoon, even threading the waxed cord onto the needle was an exercise in frustration and she almost quit a half-dozen times.

Every time she was tempted to put the project away, though, she reminded herself that she was exercising, working her arm, hand and wrist muscles as her occupational therapist insisted.

She found even something as basic as a wrapped loop a challenge. She was struggling to hold the pliers and bend the wire when her cell phone rang.

Usually she hated interruptions while she was beading and tried to remember to turn off her ringer. In this case, she jumped at any excuse to take a rest, especially when she saw the identity of her caller on the phone display.

“Hi, Evie. How’s the most brilliant bead store manager in the entire Mountain West?”

Her store manager snorted. “Suck-up. You really think that’s going to work with me?”

Claire smiled, her frustration subsiding in the sheer joy of talking with one of her dearest friends. “It’s worth a try. How are things?”

“Crazy-busy. You wouldn’t believe the pre-Mother’s Day business we’re seeing. We’re rocking right now. That class we did for that memory charm bracelet you designed was standing room only. Seriously.”

“That’s great, Evie. Thank you so much for covering everything for me.”

“No worries.”

“I’m still planning to be back Monday. I got the all clear from Dr. Murray today. I hope I can make things a little easier for you then.”

“Don’t push it. There’s no need for you to rush back before you’re ready.”

“I’m so ready. If I don’t get out of this house for something besides doctor appointments and therapy, I might do something crazy. Like take up knitting or something.”

Evie laughed. “We wouldn’t want that. You’ve got enough hobbies, hon.”

“I can’t afford any more.”

“You know you’re going to have to pace yourself. When you first come back to work, you’re going to want to jump back into everything you did before, but you’ll have to take things slow.”

“Are you speaking as my friend or as a physical therapist?”

“I’m retired,” Evie said automatically. “But, okay, both.”

“I know, I know. I promise, I’ll be good.”

Evie made another sound of disbelief but didn’t argue. “I’m actually calling because we’re running low on our heavy-gauge wire. If I place the order before the close of business today, we can get a shipment Monday, but I thought I’d better run it past you.”

“Whatever you think best.”

“We need it, obviously, but our usual distributor raised their price five percent a few weeks ago. Do you want me to shop around to try to find a better deal?”

She did a quick calculation in her head of the discount they received buying in bulk. Even though math wasn’t her strong suit, she’d become rather more adept than she ever expected at figuring percentages in the two years she’d owned the store.

“Let’s do half of what we normally order. What we lose for the quantity discount, we might be able to make up by finding a different supplier with a better price point.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, but thought I should check with you.”

“You don’t need me, Evie. We both know you could run the store in your sleep.”

What a blessing that she had someone she trusted so implicitly to leave in charge at String Fever. Evie was smart and creative and capable…and probably far more business-savvy than Claire.

“The other reason I called was to give you the skinny on Gen Beaumont’s wedding. Or have you heard already?”

“You forget I’m living in seclusion, completely isolated from the outside world.”

“Except for cell phone, home phone, television, the internet… And your mother, of course.”

She laughed. “Well, yeah. Except for that. But I haven’t heard anything about Gen. What’s up? She knows the designer is rushing to send another gown, right? Don’t tell me she’s decided to send it to someone else for the beadwork.”

“There is no one else in town who can handle the job except you.”

“And you. And possibly Katherine.”

“Okay. The three of us. Gen knows she won’t find anyone better.”

Despite her best efforts to keep her attention firmly away from the window, Claire caught a flicker of movement and watched Riley heading toward the street, his arms full of shingles, and Owen following him like a little shadow.

She quickly looked back at the beads, picked up one of the recycled glass barrels and rolled it between her fingers. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, the good news is you’ve got an extra six
months to work your broken arm back into condition before you tackle her project.”

“Why?”

“Gen postponed the wedding.”

The bead popped out from between her fingers and rolled onto the area rug and she had to lean sideways and dig through the thick pile to retrieve it. “You’re kidding! Why?”

“Their family is in crisis. I gather she talked it over with her fiancé in Denver and they decided to wait until things settle down.”

“Because of Charlie.”

“Right. The kid is facing serious consequences for the burglaries and the accident. Last I heard, they were talking maybe vehicular homicide.”

Claire gasped. “Oh, no. Poor Laura.”

The mayor’s wife was a customer at the store. She favored large, flashy, expensive art glass beads and usually managed to finagle one of the store employees into basically creating it for her with sly little interactions like, “Can you just get me started?” or “Will you show me that technique again?” or “You know I always struggle with that particular gauge of wire.”

Usually Claire’s employees loved to help people with their projects, but Laura Beaumont’s ploys to have people do the work for her without compensation of any kind had become so transparent, most of them just rolled their eyes—discreetly—every time she walked in the store.

“Poor Gen. It couldn’t have been an easy decision. I wonder how her fiancé and his family are taking the news.”

Genevieve Beaumont was marrying the son of one of Colorado’s most prestigious families, rich and politically powerful, in what had promised to be the leading social event of the year. She sincerely hoped Sawyer Danforth’s family didn’t try to distance themselves from the Beaumonts in light of Charlie’s legal troubles.

“Why do you think Charlie slashed up the wedding dress? I always thought Gen and Charlie got along fairly well, despite the eight-year gap in their ages.”

“Who knows.” Claire didn’t need to see her friend to sense her shrug. “Maybe Charlie was resentful of all the attention Gen was getting. Or maybe he doesn’t like the groom. Or maybe he just thought the dress was ugly.”

So much anger had been channeled into that wanton destruction. She couldn’t imagine it.

“He must be a very troubled young man to have made such terrible decisions.”

“Or maybe he’s just a rotten kid. It’s possible.”

She caught a flash of movement outside as Riley passed by the window. She thought of him and the trouble he had caused in his youth, reacting so fiercely to a confusing, painful world. She would have thought he, of all people, should have some compassion for Charlie Beaumont.

“I’d better go so I can place this order before end of business, Pacific time.”

“Thank you, Evie. A few more days and I’ll be back to take some of the weight off your shoulders.”

“So far my shoulders are plenty wide enough for the load. Don’t push yourself too hard. I mean it.”

“It’s not like I’m Alex, who has to stand on her feet all day in a hot restaurant kitchen. I can sit in the store as easily as I can sit here and at least there I’ll have someone to talk to besides Chester.”

“Well, he
is
the only reason I want you to hurry back, you know. I miss that ugly mug. In fact, I miss him so much I might be fostering another dog myself. The shelter called and they need a temporary home for a labradoodle. It will probably be a tight fit in the apartment over the store, but I figure for a few weeks we’ll cope. I told them I would, but I guess I should have checked with you first.”

“You know I don’t care.”

Claire was probably the most indulgent landlord ever, but since Evie was the perfect tenant, employee and friend, Claire figured that earned her more than a little latitude.

Evie had fostered animals before until a permanent placement could be found, but they’d usually been cats or small-breed dogs. She rarely developed a lasting attachment to anything, something that worried Claire. Her friend had deep secrets in her past, a pain she didn’t share with anyone.

“I’ll see you Monday morning,” she said after a moment.

“Need me to come get you?” Evie asked.

Rats. She’d forgotten about transportation. Oh, she hated being dependent on people. “I’ll see if Alex can give me a lift. If that isn’t convenient, my mom can probably do it.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. I know Ruth isn’t always easy to take first thing in the morning.”

Claire smiled and they quickly ended the call. She sat for a moment, rolling that silky bead between her fingers again and thinking of the events that had affected so many lives in Hope’s Crossing. Charlie Beaumont’s life would never be the same. He would always have this tragedy around his neck. The ripples from that moment were expanding out in wholly unexpected ways. Gen pushing her wedding back six months. Riley struggling to find his place in town. Probably in a hundred other lives she didn’t even know.

She thought of Maura, whose life had been changed forever. Riley’s sister was still avoiding her phone calls most of the time, and Claire was determined to make it to her house as soon as possible, if she had to wheel herself the four blocks there.

With a sigh, she turned back to the bracelet, hoping beading would soothe and quiet her spirit.

She was just beginning to find a rhythm of sorts when the back door opened and Riley and Owen came inside.

“Mom? Where are you, Mom?”

“Family room,” she called.

Her son burst through the doorway, baseball cap shoved backward and his face flushed with excitement.

“Did you see me work the nail gun, Mom? I did a whole row of shingles by myself.”

The very thought of it caused heart palpitations. Her son on a ladder with a nail gun that could impale his hand to the roof. She supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t allowed herself to watch.

“You let him use a nail gun?” she asked Riley in what she hoped was a calm voice.

“With help,” he assured her. “I kept my hand on it at all times.”

“It was awesome,” Owen exclaimed. “I think I’m gonna save up my allowance and buy one. Man, I’d have the best tree house in town!”

Riley laughed. “You’ve got to build to a nail gun, kid. Start out with some regular tools and see how that goes first. You don’t snowboard on the black diamond trails until you’ve had a few runs down the beginner slope.”

Her son seemed to accept that bit of philosophy with his usual equanimity—and short attention span. “Hey, Mom, can we have pizza for dinner?”

She smiled. “I was thinking the same thing. It is Friday night after all.” She was always grateful when she had the children on the weekend and tried to make Friday nights fun time for the three of them. “I’ll call and put in the order as soon as Macy comes back from soccer practice. Want to watch a movie, too? We have all those DVDs your dad and Holly brought over for me to watch while I recover, plus the instant streaming. Wasn’t there some superhero show you’ve been wanting to see?”

“Can I go check out our queue and see?”

“Sure. My laptop’s on the kitchen table.”

She was deeply grateful for technology—and even more grateful that her kids could figure it out far better than she could.

The moment her son headed out of the room, Claire instantly wanted to call him back. His presence
provided a buffer between her and Riley. Without him, that ridiculous teenage girl inside her couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss.

“Owen is a great kid. You’ve done a great job with him.”

“He
is
a great kid, but I’m not sure I had anything to do with it. He came out of the box that way. He was the easiest, most good-natured baby you could ever imagine and a very sweet toddler.”

“He has a good mother who loves him. That’s got to count for something.”

She smiled. “Thanks. And thank you for your help, Riley.” She paused. “You probably have figured out that I don’t like being in a position to need help.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said, his tone dry as he came closer.

“I’m working on it. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ve still got a bike to fix but that shouldn’t take long.” He stepped closer and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He was just so
big.
He crowded out any common sense she might have hoped to cling to. “What are you working on over here?”

“A bracelet. I wanted to give something to Brooke Callahan for taking such good care of me when I was in the hospital. While I was there, I noticed she had several flowered scrubs in that color.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you ever do anything for yourself?”

“Beading
is
for me. Oh, I might sometimes give away the things I make, but the process of creating them is all about me. I find pleasure in the whole thing, from coming up with the design to choosing the beads
to the feel of them under my fingers. These recycled glass beads from Africa are like sea glass that’s been worn smooth by the waves.”