Blossom Street Brides (31 page)

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.

“I think she might be able to go back to her apartment this afternoon. Would you like to talk to her?” Casey asked.

“Oh, sure.” During the last conversation with her
mother, Lydia had the disheartening impression her mother didn’t have a clue who she was.

“Grandma, Lydia is on the phone.”

Lydia heard Casey tell her grandmother, and then the teenager added, lowering her tones, “Lydia is your daughter.”

“I know who Lydia is,” Mary Lou Hoffman insisted.

A moment later, her mother’s voice came over the cellphone. “Hi, honey. I’m feeling much better today.”

“You sound great, Mom.”

“Are you coming by to visit?”

“I’ll be there as soon as Cody’s baseball game is over.”

“Cody?” her mother repeated.

“That’s my brother,” Casey whispered in the background.

“Oh, of course, Cody and Brad. You married them.”

“You got it, Mom. I’ll see you later.” She hung up the phone, and, after chatting briefly with her sister, Lydia headed toward the ball field.

When she arrived, she found Brad sitting in the bleachers. He had saved a spot for her next to him. She joined her husband and settled in. The opposing team was up to bat, and Cody played shortstop.

Their son was athletic and enjoyed sports. In the fall, he played on a select soccer team. Having Cody or any child involved in sports was a major commitment for their family, requiring travel to other cities and even other states. To this point, because Lydia often worked weekends, Brad had taken over transporting Cody from one event to the other.

“How’d your morning go?” Brad asked, while keeping his attention focused on the field.

“Evelyn Boyle stopped by.”

Brad’s gaze momentarily left the game. “Did you mention how bad Casey’s nightmares have gotten?”

“I did.”

“And what did she say?”

Lydia mentally reviewed the conversation. “Well, it’s what you and I came up with originally. We need to get Casey into counseling.”

Brad took a couple of moments to digest this. It wasn’t an idea they’d overlooked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Lydia said, remembering their earlier concerns.

“It isn’t the cost, Lydia. Somehow we’ll find the money. If Casey needs to talk to a professional, then we’ll make it happen, no matter what sacrifice we have to make.”

Lydia leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder. How she’d been able to marry such a wonderful man she would never know. All she could figure was that God in His goodness had decided to bless her with Brad in an effort to make up for the brain cancer she’d suffered in her youth and then later as a young adult.

“I love you, Brad Goetz.”

He chuckled. “Heaven knows I’m crazy about you. I was from the first moment I delivered yarn to the store.”

That was how they’d met. Brad had been her UPS delivery man.

“My only concern,” Brad continued, “is if Casey won’t talk to us about these nightmares, what makes Evelyn think she’d discuss them with a complete stranger?”

He had a point. “I don’t know.”

“They are professionals,” Brad added, as though thinking this through.

“Right. Counselors are trained for just this sort of thing. And …” She paused, uncertain how best to mention the change in the yarn store situation.

“Yes?” He glanced her way.

“I have good news.”

“Great. Are you going to share it?”

“With pleasure. I was going over the figures for the yarn store in the last month, and business is up substantially.” She didn’t want to sound overly optimistic. They were heading into summer, when customers didn’t think as much about knitting in hot weather as they did during the colder months of the year.

“Really? The shop is doing well financially? Lydia, that’s great news.”

“It is,” she agreed. “And I think it’s all due to those yarn baskets someone has set out. All the publicity those baskets have generated has been a huge boost.”

“I’m sure that the newspaper article helped, too.”

“You’re right, it did. Because people are curious, they’ve made a point of stopping in and asking about charity knitting. Several have purchased yarn. A handful have signed up for beginning knitting classes.”

“Sweetheart, that’s fabulous.”

“I might even be able to help finance Casey’s counseling sessions.”

Brad took a moment to assimilate the news. “I guess we
need to thank the person who came up with this brilliant idea—that is, if we ever find out who is responsible.”

Lydia agreed.

Now all Lydia had to do was figure out who’d come up with this plan and find a way to thank them.

Bethanne sat in her office, but her mind wasn’t on the email in front of her or business matters. It’d been almost three weeks since Annie had left. Three long, torturous weeks. Never once did she suspect her daughter would stay away this amount of time.

This had gone on far too long, and over nothing. Despite the fact that Bethanne missed Max and wanted to be with him, she wouldn’t be moving to California. On the flip side, it didn’t seem likely that he would move to Washington State, either. Bethanne felt as if she were in a no-win situation, complicated by her own daughter.

Reaching out to Annie hadn’t helped. She’d already tried that, but her daughter was as stubborn as they come. Andrew had already attempted to reason with his sister, and he, too, had met with no success. Nothing, no logic, no words of persuasion, no heart-to-heart chat, was able to change Annie’s mind. She was bound and determined to sever all ties with her mother. Because he loved her, Max had reached
out to Annie, too, and met with the same icy reception as everyone else.

It went without saying that Grant bolstered his daughter’s resolve. It suited his ego to have Annie stand by his side, no matter what price she had to pay. Although she’d resisted to this point, Bethanne didn’t feel she had any other option but to seek out Grant’s help, which she suspected was exactly what he wanted.

Using the office phone, she called the office where her ex-husband worked as a real-estate broker.

“Southard Realty.” Annie’s voice startled Bethanne, although she knew her daughter had taken a job as a receptionist at Grant’s workplace.

“Grant Hamlin,” she said, as if she didn’t recognize her own daughter’s voice.

“Mom?”

Bethanne hesitated. “Yes.”

“Why do you want to talk to
my
father?” Heavy emphasis fell on the word “my.”

“I believe that is
my
business, Annie. Now please put me through.”

Annie paused as though debating a course of action. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

“Annie, just put me through to
your father
.”

“No.”

Bethanne’s tempter flared, but she quickly brought it under control. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit ridiculous?”

“Maybe, but I don’t care,” Annie returned flippantly.
“You made your choice, and I’ve made mine. I want nothing more to do with you. As far as I’m concerned, I only have one parent, and that’s my dad.”

The words cut like the serrated edge of a knife. Bethanne swallowed hard and did her best to breathe normally, despite the pain. The tension between the two lines was taut, stretched tight as a violin string. Neither spoke, and after a few seconds Annie disconnected the line.

In an effort to hold herself together, Bethanne cupped her hand over her mouth. Once she felt she could think clearly, she punched out Grant’s cellphone number. He answered after the first ring, almost as if he’d been waiting for her call.

“Bethanne,” he greeted cheerfully, “it’s great to hear from you.”

She didn’t return the compliment. She could picture him in his corner office, smugly leaning back in his chair. He seemed to think he had her exactly where he wanted her, squirming and needing his help.

“How’s Annie?” she asked.

He sighed, as if she should already know the answer. “Annie’s doing great, and the staff love her working here. It didn’t take long before she got the entire office reorganized. I can’t tell you what an asset she is.”

Bethanne tensed. Grant seemed to enjoy rubbing salt in her wounds.

“It’s a joy having her around,” he finished.

“No doubt.”

“I imagine you must miss her.”

More salt. More gloating. It was tempting to lie, but Bethanne didn’t. “I miss her dreadfully.”

“Annie mentioned that Max stopped by her place. I heard they had a little heart-to-heart, which unfortunately didn’t go well.”

With this comment, he brought out the entire salt canister. Naturally, Grant made it a question, as if he wanted her to fill in the blanks. What transpired between Annie and Max was their business, and she wasn’t about to break confidences. In actuality, Max had said very little about his meeting with Annie. All Bethanne knew was that it had been a wasted effort.

“I know you must be pleased with Annie’s unwavering loyalty to you, Grant, but at what cost?”

“What do you mean?”

Apparently, she needed to spell it out for him. “Annie has a business degree; with her experience and background, she could have almost any job she wanted.”

“I admit, she’s amazing.”

“Do you honestly believe she’ll be satisfied working as a receptionist for long?”

“Time will tell,” he said, seemingly unconcerned.