Six years ago Bethanne had been desperate for him to come home. Her pride was gone. What she’d craved was exactly what Grant wanted now—for everything to go back to the way it had been. At the time she’d believed she could fix whatever was wrong. They’d been happy, and could be again.
When it became apparent that his affair with Tiffany wasn’t a fling and Grant fully intended to go through with the divorce, an all-consuming rage had taken root. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. At night she lay awake plotting revenge. One day Grant would be sorry. He’d beg her to take him back and she’d laugh in his face. He would pay for what he’d done.
Then, several months after the divorce was finalized, she woke with that familiar ugly feeling in the pit of her stomach and realized this corrosive, soul-destroying bitterness couldn’t continue. As the saying had it, the best revenge was living well—living a successful, independent life. So Bethanne had dedicated herself to her business.
Gradually, she’d stopped thinking about Grant. She embraced her new life, her new identity. Indirectly, she had Grant to thank for her flourishing business, her circle of loyal new friends, for the strength and confidence she’d never known she had. It felt odd to her now that she’d once been content to be simply Grant’s wife, looking after his social affairs and staying in the background.
Dinner for old times’ sake? Just the two of them?
In the years since the divorce, Bethanne had dated a number of men. Besides Tiffany’s ex, a couple of them stood out in her mind. But she’d been so focused on building her business that neither relationship had lasted more than six months. She wasn’t ready or willing to make a serious commitment to anyone. Those relationships, albeit short, had boosted her depleted ego. She’d enjoyed them but she wasn’t looking for a long-term commitment.
Bethanne had concluded their phone call without giving Grant an answer. She needed to ponder her ex-husband’s newfound contrition, and there was no more effective way of doing that than knitting. It was both productive and contemplative; you created something while you meditated on your problems. That was why she’d stopped at Lydia’s—to pick up yarn for the elegant fingerless gloves she’d make for Courtney’s wedding.
Lydia glanced up from the display she was working on and smiled when Bethanne entered the store. “You got my message! The cashmere yarn’s in.”
Bethanne smiled back. “I can hardly wait to get started.” Knitting had seen her through the darkest days of her life. Annie was the one who’d signed her up for classes, because even dialing the phone number for the yarn store was more than she could manage back then; the smallest tasks had seemed insurmountable. In retrospect, Bethanne knew she’d fallen into a dangerous depression.
Annie had enrolled Bethanne in a beginners’ sock-knitting class. Meeting the other women had been a turning point for her. Her new friends gave her courage and the determination to emerge from her ordeal a stronger woman. Not only that, it was through the knitting class that she’d met Elise, and through Elise, Maverick. He’d ended up being the “angel” who’d helped her launch Parties. Her classmates had reminded Bethanne that she wasn’t alone, rebuilding her confidence one stitch at a time.
That class was the beginning of Bethanne’s new life. And Part Two turned out to be better than Part One had ever been. Was it possible to knit the two halves together again? Did she want to?
“The pattern isn’t difficult,” Lydia told her as she brought the yarn to the cash register. “Once you do a couple of repeats, I’m sure you won’t have a problem, but if you do, just stop by and I’ll help you figure it out.”
Bethanne paid for the purchase, grateful that Lydia had wound the yarn, saving her the effort. At first, she’d considered knitting Courtney’s veil, but there wasn’t time. Although a bit disappointed, she knew fingerless gloves were a far more manageable project. Her hope was that the gloves would be beautiful enough to become a family heirloom, passed down from one generation to the next.
“Alix was in this week and brought Tommy with her,” Lydia said as she handed Bethanne the yarn. “You wouldn’t believe how much he’s grown. It’s hard to believe he’s nearly a year old.”
Alix, a friend of theirs, was employed as a baker at the French Café across the street. “She’s gone back to work?”
Lydia nodded. “Just part-time. Now with Winter pregnant…there must be something in the water over there.” Lydia grinned. “Or the coffee.”
So many changes on Blossom Street, and all of them good.
“How’s Casey?” Bethanne asked about Lydia’s adopted daughter. A couple of months before, when Casey turned thirteen, Bethanne had planned her birthday party.
“Casey’s fine,” Lydia assured her. “She had a few academic challenges and will be attending summer school again. It’s not the end of the world but Casey tends to get down on herself. We’re working on that.” Lydia leaned against the counter. “The poor kid came to us with a lot of baggage.”
“No doubt about that.” Bethanne had to admire Brad and Lydia for opening their hearts and their home to the troubled girl.
“It helps that she’s so close to my mother…. My biggest fear is what’ll happen once Mom is gone,” Lydia said, her voice subdued.
“Is your mother doing okay?”
Lydia rubbed her eyes. “Not really.” She gave a small, hopeless shrug. “She’s declining, and that’s so hard to watch. You know, she sometimes forgets who I am but she always remembers Casey. I think it’s one of those small miracles. It makes Casey feel important and loved, which she is. Everyone at the assisted-living complex adores Casey. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hired her once she’s old enough to have a job. Her patience with Mom and Mom’s friends is amazing. She loves hearing their stories.”
Bethanne nodded sympathetically.
“No one seems to have enough time for the elderly anymore….” Lydia shook her head. “I’m guilty of rushing visits myself, but not Casey. She sits and listens for hours and never seems to get impatient, even when Mom repeats the same story over and over again.”
“And Margaret?” Bethanne noticed that Lydia’s older sister, who often worked with her, wasn’t in the store.
“She took the day off. Wednesdays are slow, and she had a dentist’s appointment at eleven. I told her to enjoy the afternoon.”
Margaret was a store fixture and so different from Lydia that new customers often didn’t realize they were sisters. Margaret was good-hearted but tended to be gruff and opinionated, and took a bit of getting used to. “How’s business going?” she ventured, aware that she was the only person in the store at the moment.
“Surprisingly well.” Lydia cheered visibly. “People turn to domestic pursuits during recessions, and lots of people want to knit these days.”
“Have you talked to Anne Marie and Ellen since they moved?”
Lydia returned to arranging the yarn display. “Practically every day. Ellen didn’t want to leave Blossom Street but I see her as much as ever. She has plenty of friends in her new neighborhood and has definitely made the adjustment.”
“I’m so happy for her.” A young widow, Anne Marie had adopted the girl after volunteering at a local grade school. Although Lydia had never said so, Bethanne knew that Ellen’s adoption had influenced her and Brad to make Casey part of their family.
“Do you have a few minutes for tea?” Lydia asked.
Bethanne checked her watch. “Sorry, no, I’m on my way to the office. I’m supposed to meet with Julia.”
“Soon, then.” Lydia waved as Bethanne opened the door.
“Soon,” Bethanne promised.
“Stop by if you have any trouble with that pattern,” she called over her shoulder.
“I will.”
As she unlocked her car, Bethanne looked over at the French Café and was startled to see her ex-mother-in-law, Ruth Hamlin, sitting at an outside table eating her lunch.
Despite the divorce, Bethanne had a warm relationship with Ruth. For her children’s sake she’d kept in touch with Grant’s mother and his younger sister, Robin. But as Lydia had so recently reminded her, no one had enough time for older people anymore. Bethanne felt guilty as charged. She rarely saw Ruth these days, and it had been several weeks since they’d talked.
Ruth had been horrified by Grant’s decision to walk away from his family. She hadn’t been shy about letting her son know her feelings, either. She’d always been generous and supportive to Bethanne, making her feel like a beloved daughter in every way. Ruth had stood at Bethanne’s side through the divorce proceedings, convinced that Grant would one day realize his mistake.
Bethanne rushed impulsively across the street. She really didn’t have time and the ever-punctual Julia would be waiting. As it was, Bethanne had spent far longer with Lydia than she’d intended. In addition, she had a tight afternoon schedule that included a meeting with her managers. But Bethanne was determined to make time for the woman who’d once been such an enormous encouragement to her.
“Ruth?”
Her mother-in-law looked up from her soup and sandwich plate and instantly broke into a smile. “Bethanne, my goodness, I never expected to see you here.”
The two women hugged. “I was picking up some yarn I ordered. What are you doing in this neighborhood?” Bethanne pulled out the chair opposite Ruth’s and sat down.
Her mother-in-law placed both hands in her lap. “Robin suggested we meet here for lunch. It’s not that far from the courthouse, but you know Robin…”
“Has she left already?” Bethanne looked around, then down at Ruth’s barely touched plate.
“She didn’t show up,” Ruth said, coloring slightly. “I’m sure she got stuck in court….” Robin was with the Prosecuting Attorney’s office in Seattle, and frequently dealt with violent crime.
Bethanne frowned. “Did you call her?”
Ruth shook her head. “I refuse to carry a cell phone. They’re an intrusion on people’s privacy and—well, never mind. Although I will admit that at times like this a cell would come in handy.”
“Would you like me to phone?”
“Oh, would you, dear?” Ruth squeezed her hand gratefully. “I’d appreciate it.”
Digging in her purse, Bethanne found her cell. She had Robin’s number in her contacts and, holding the phone to her ear, waited for the call to connect. Robin’s phone went directly to voice mail, which meant she was probably still in court.
“I think you must be right,” Bethanne told Ruth.
The older woman exhaled. “I was afraid of that. I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to meet again before I leave.” Ruth straightened and picked up her sandwich. “But it doesn’t really matter, because my daughter is not going to change my mind.”
