The Knitting Diaries (17 page)

Chicago
Four weeks later

“Y
es, I understand that her strength and dexterity are going to be limited. I will monitor all those things closely.” Morgan sat very straight, her eyes on the X-ray framed in a box beside the doctor’s desk. There were long and short gray lines through the bones at Caro’s right elbow, wrist and fingers. The gray lines were fractures. The picture left no doubt about the extent of Caro’s injuries.

“I know you and your team have done a wonderful job here. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, helping Caro move from a full cast to an elbow-to-finger cast. In time my granddaughter may need more surgery, and we will be prepared for that. But for now—I want to take Caro home. She needs that most.” Morgan’s voice was firm. “She needs to be in safe, familiar surroundings right now.”

Dr. Mildred Clarke tapped her pen on the neat desk, looking undecided.

“I’ll take care of all the details. I’ll see that she’s seen regularly by the orthopedist at Oregon Health and Science
in Portland. You’ve approved their physical therapist already.”

The doctor looked at two more X-rays. She flipped through Caro’s most recent tests and blood work. Then she closed the thick file and pushed her glasses up on her forehead. “It will take hard work and there are no guarantees that your granddaughter’s hand will ever completely heal. Forgive me, but I think it’s best to speak clearly to you. You’ve both worked so hard and Caro has improved nicely in the last month.” She rubbed her eyes. “But the damage was severe.”

“My granddaughter is stubborn, Doctor, and I’ll be right beside her. We’ll do whatever it takes. Caro is going to recover all her strength.
That
is a promise. Just watch us.”

It rained on the way to the airport in Chicago and it rained while the plane taxied to the gate in Portland. Tired as she was, when Caro finally saw the ocean she forgot all about the clouds and her pain.

They stopped at the same place they always stopped—around a bend in the road above a small headland by the sea. The rain hadn’t made it to the island, it seemed, and the sun was shining from behind a few wispy clouds. As a girl, Caro had sat in that same spot, shaded by a rugged oak tree in the middle of a broad meadow. With her knees drawn to her chest, Caro had drowsed in the sun, dreaming of grand passion and great adventure. The oak tree looked the same, but now its scarred trunk showed signs of age and hard weather. Things always changed. You could bank on that.

Beyond the meadow the hillside dropped sharply to a small harbor where scattered boats rocked at anchor.
Despite all the places she had been and all the friends she had made, this meadow and this old tree meant home, the magnet for Caro’s soul. A deep feeling of welcome and peace wrapped around her.

At least
some
things hadn’t changed.

She heard the crunch of gravel, and a second later her grandmother touched her shoulder. “What do you think of it?”

“The meadow is lovely and the sea looks just the same. Vast and deep. New as my dreams. I guess the sea never changes, even when we do.”

Morgan sat down on the grass beside her granddaughter. “This was always your favorite spot, wasn’t it?” She pulled a blade of grass and chewed it thoughtfully. “But not everything’s the same. Rafe Russo—you remember him?”

Oh yes, Caro remembered Rafe. Summer Island’s bad boy, Rafe had set every girl’s heart on fire with pure lust. “Of course I do. How is Rafe doing these days?”

“He joined the Marines. He’s stationed over in Afghanistan right now. His aunt still lives near the library, and he stays in touch.” Caro’s grandmother shot her a look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale, honey.”

“I’m fine.” Caro cradled her arm carefully. She didn’t want to think about the pain in her wrist. This was her first glimpse of home in three years, and she wanted to savor the moment, letting the wind and waves speak to her. A fishing trawler cut through the harbor toward the main pier, while noisy seabirds circled above the wake. Caro turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “What else has changed on the island?”

“Well, you know the old grocery burned down last year. Thank heavens no one was hurt. We needed a new one anyway.” Caro’s grandmother cleared her throat. “What
else? Let’s see, some mainlander bought the Harbor Café. They put in Wi-Fi and an expensive wine bar, which lasted all of three months.” Caro’s grandmother sniffed. “But the animal shelter is still running strong. And Grace Lindstrom, your friend from high school? Well, she’s in Paris now, writing cookbooks—historical cookbooks, I think. Her grandfather still manages the animal shelter. Dr. Lindstrom told me Grace was coming home to visit sometime this spring.” Morgan slanted a careful glance at Caro. “Maybe you’d like to volunteer at the shelter once you’re feeling better. Dr. Lindstrom—Peter—could certainly use your help. I think he keeps the shelter afloat with his own money these days since state funds were cut last year, during the fiscal crisis. Closing the shelter would have meant that all those poor animals…”

She didn’t finish. Caro got the picture well enough.

“Yes, I’d love to help out, Gran.” Caro gritted her teeth as she cradled her right arm. “Just as soon as I can.” She smiled crookedly. “Next week should be good.”

“I wish that were true,” her grandmother murmured. “But you’ve made excellent progress, far better than your doctors expected.” She studied Caro’s face. “You’re tired and I think you’re in pain. Let’s get you home.”

Caro wanted to stay longer, but the pain was building. She stood up slowly, feeling the wind in her hair. “Yes, I’ve seen the meadow and the old tree. Let’s go home.” She felt her grandmother’s hand on her shoulder.

Neither moved, caught in memories. Caro had stood on this spot as a girl desolate and lost in the wake of her parents’ sudden deaths. She had come to this hill as a restless teenager, desperate to grow up and see her future. And through everything, her grandmother had supported her. The responsibility of raising a young child had come
when she’d least expected it. She had been building a successful career as a painter, but she had put everything on hold for her granddaughter. She’d swept Caro up in island activities and kept her busy with new friends and new hobbies. Together they had tackled a new craft project every week. Her energy and enthusiasm had made the perfect antidote to Caro’s terrible loss.

It felt wonderful to be home, Caro realized. Why had she stayed away from the island for so long? She paused beside the car, resting her good hand on the door. “I’m ready to go, Gran. I’d like to rest a little, but then maybe we can drive down to the harbor. Is the little bookstore still there?”

“They closed last winter, I’m sorry to say. Tourism has been down and they just didn’t have enough business. But the day is all yours, my love. Wherever you want, whenever you want. I forgot to mention there’s a new restaurant near the harbor. I’ve seen your old friend Jilly Peterson working there. I heard she was accepted at a prestigious cooking school in Scottsdale, so she’ll be leaving soon. She always seemed so restless, so anxious to get away from the island. Now it looks like she’s on her way.”

Then Morgan’s update on Caro’s old friends ceased. As she drove over the ridge of the hill, red roofs emerged above twisting streets that hugged the water. Caro had always loved the quirky cottages snuggled beside the harbor. Decades before, a pair of English artists had moved here, bringing with them the traditional thatching techniques. Now a dozen whimsical cottages still boasted thatched roofs carved into scrolls and rolling curves. There had once been talk of making up note cards and a Summer Island calendar with photos of these cottages, earmarking the revenue to benefit the local library,
but Summer Islanders were a careful lot. No one wanted to be flooded with crowds of loud summer tourists or off-season photographers on the prowl for “local color.” In the end the plan was scrapped. Life stayed slow and quiet on the island, just the way it had been for decades.

“The dragon roof is just up ahead.” Caro’s grandmother slowed the car, smiling. “Remember?”

Caro saw the sleek gray body rising and falling along the top of small dormers, above walls covered by climbing roses. Cut into thatch, the dragon’s body curved along the roof ridge in the afternoon sunlight. It was a work of great skill, Caro saw now with the eyes of an adult. But for a child, it had been a creation of pure magic, sprung from dreams, not everyday metal tools. Its beauty made her breath catch, driving away her pain and her worry. “Is it still haunted, Gran?”

“So I hear. The last deal for a buyer from Seattle fell through. It’s on the market again.”

Caro felt a pang. Buying the dragon cottage had been one of her childhood dreams, but the current owner, a wealthy movie exec from L.A., was asking an exorbitant price—certainly far beyond her reach. Besides, she wasn’t nearly ready to move back home.

As the car turned onto a tiny cobblestone street overlooking the harbor, Caro caught the perfume of roses. She saw the gleam of the gold-and-blue stained-glass windows in her grandmother’s studio.

Caro closed her eyes, feeling she was truly home.

“I’ll make you a pot of tea, love. I thought you’d like your old room under the eaves, the one where you can see the harbor.”

“That sounds wonderful, Gran.” But Caro was fighting
to hide her pain and exhaustion from long hours of travel. “I think I’d better rest first.”

“You go on ahead. I’ll bring up your bags.” Her grandmother frowned. “Do you need help? Should I stay—”

“I’ll be fine.” There was an edge of determination in Caro’s voice. It was too early to begin full-scale therapy on her hand, but she had to start adjusting, learning how to be independent again. With two pins in her right wrist and an elbow-to-fingertip cast in place, the process wouldn’t be easy.

As she passed the little window at the landing, Caro yawned. “I’m so tired. It must be all the fresh air and the water.” She yawned again. “It’s lovely to be home, Gran. Thank you for everything.”

“Thank me for what? Of course I would come and help. It doesn’t bear discussing.”

“Well, then thank you for keeping everything in the house just the way it was. The roses are still the same and you haven’t changed the old twig furniture on the hill. I always thought that this house was perfect. Growing up, it felt like sheer enchantment to live here.” Caro yawned again, half asleep on her feet. “It still does.”

As she trudged upstairs, Caro didn’t see the smile of pride that lit up her grandmother’s keen blue eyes.

“Yes, we’re finally home, Peter. It’s been a rough month, I don’t mind telling you. Then our flights were delayed and Caro’s luggage was lost. My poor, dear Caro. You wouldn’t recognize her now. She’s lost fifteen pounds and looks terrible…. No, of
course
I didn’t tell her that.
Men
.” Morgan blew out a breath. “Her hand? I can tell the pain is bothering her all the time, but she refuses to take her pain medication unless she’s right on the edge of screaming.” She sighed. “Stubborn girl.”

“I wonder where she got all her stubbornness,” Peter Lindstrom, Summer Island’s veterinarian, said wryly. “I’ve been doing some research about her hand. I also spoke to an old friend in Minnesota who highly recommends the physical therapist you chose. You’re going to be busy. He told me that Caro’s compliance with the therapy schedule will be crucial to her recovery.”

“She’s a determined woman, Peter. So am I.” Morgan’s voice fell, and she looked up cautiously before she continued. “Caro’s going to need a great deal of rest and moral support in the next few months, Peter. I’m afraid that means that I can’t…that we can’t…”

“I already guessed that, my love. And I’ve waited for you twenty years, so I suppose I can wait a few more weeks to announce our marriage.”

Morgan drummed her fingers on the big wooden table. “I was going to tell her during my visit. Then the accident happened and there was no time.”

“I understand.” Voices rose sharply. Barking echoed over the line.

“Peter, is something wrong at the shelter?”

“No. Just some new arrivals. Heaven knows where we’re going to put them. Since I converted our back storage room into sleeping areas for the animals, there’s no more space left anywhere. I’m using an old trailer for supplies now. And with more funding cuts ahead…” He cut off his complaint. “But we’ll manage. We always have.”

“You’re a wonderful man and an amazing veterinarian, Peter Lindstrom. I
love
you. I hope you know that.”

“Just keep telling me, Morgan. I can’t seem to hear you say it often enough. And I warn you, I’m going to drop by Saturday night. I won’t give up seeing you entirely. But don’t worry. I’ll use the excuse of showing you pictures
of our newest rescue animals.” Shrill barking filled the air. “Now I’d really better go. We just got four more abandoned puppies and it’s starting to look like World War III back there.”

Peter Lindstrom put down the phone and rubbed the knotted muscles at his neck. It had been the Friday from hell. He hadn’t stopped moving since dawn, when a stray puppy was brought in, bleeding and abandoned by the side of the road. Fridays were always the worst, he thought grimly. Fridays were the day people made desperate decisions or pulled up stakes to leave town; on Fridays, in the heat of the moment, people sometimes decided to dump their cat or dog behind an empty building or outside a busy shopping center. They told themselves it was for the best, convinced that someone else would pick up the responsibility.

He bit back an oath, furious as always at how irresponsible people could be. But the truth was, they did what they could. Peter knew that times were hard, and sometimes people simply ran out of options. If it came to a choice between feeding four hungry children or feeding a dog, who was he to point an accusing finger? Day by day he did what he could. The shelter would keep its doors open for as long as he was alive. He was drawing from his own savings now, something he knew Morgan suspected. But even she didn’t realize the extent of the costs to run everything.