Twenty Wishes. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
them home. As she passed A Good Yarn, the shop just two doors down from the bookstore, she impulsively stepped inside. First, she wanted to thank Lydia for the table covering and second…she’d ask about classes.
She’d add knitting to her wish list. Anne Marie wondered why she hadn’t thought of that earlier. Elise was a consummate knitter and often encouraged the others to learn. She described the satisfactions of knitting in such a compelling way, Anne Marie had flirted more than once with the idea of taking a class. Lydia Goetz, who owned A Good Yarn, was a much-loved and admired member of the Blossom Street neighborhood. Anne Marie was friendly with her and had often gone inside the yarn store, but never with the serious intent of learning to knit. Now, the prospect of knitting filled her with unfamiliar enthusiasm.
Lydia was sitting at the table in the back of the shop with her sister, Margaret. Although Lydia was petite and graceful, her sister was rather big-boned, a little ungainly. At first glance it was hard to believe they were even related. Once the surprise of learning they were sisters wore off, the resemblance revealed itself in the shape of their eyes and the thrust of their chins.
When Anne Marie entered the store, the sisters were obviously involved in their conversation; as they spoke, Lydia was knitting, Margaret crocheting. The bell above the door jingled, startling them both.
A smile instantly broke out on Lydia’s face. “Anne Marie, how nice to see you! I’m glad you stopped by.”
Lydia had a natural warmth that made customers feel welcome.
“Good morning,” Anne Marie said, smiling at the two women. “Lydia, I came to thank you again for the gorgeous tablecloth.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. You know, it’s really a lace shawl I knit years ago. I hope you’ll have occasion to use it again.”
“Oh, I will.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit the bookstore,” Lydia told her. “I want to pick up a couple of new mysteries. By the way, how did the Valentine’s party go?”
“It was wonderful,” Anne Marie said, gazing around. Whenever she went into the yarn shop, she was astonished by the range of beautiful colors and inviting textures. She walked over to the blue, green and teal yarns that lined one area of the shelves. Putting down her packages, she reached out a hand to touch a skein of irresistibly soft wool.
“Can I help you find something?” Lydia asked.
Anne Marie nodded and, strangely, felt a bit hesitant. “I’d like to learn to knit.” This was the first positive step she’d taken toward acting on her wish list. She’d been searching for somewhere to start, and knitting would do very well. “I…saw the notice in the window for a beginners’ class last week, but there isn’t a sign now. Do you have one scheduled anytime soon?”
“As it happens, Margaret and I were just discussing a beginners’ class for Thursday afternoons.”
Anne Marie shook her head. “I work all day on Thursdays.”
“I’m also thinking about starting a new class for people who work. How about lunchtime on Tuesdays?” Lydia suggested next. “Would you like to sign up for that?”
Before Anne Marie could respond, Margaret was on her feet. “That’s too many classes,” she muttered. “Lydia’s teaching far too many classes and it exhausts her.”
“Margaret!” Lydia protested and cast a despairing look at her sister.
“Well, it’s true. You need to get someone else in here who can teach. I do as much as I can,” she said, “but there are times I’ve got more customers than I can handle and you’re involved with all those classes.”
Lydia ignored her sister. “Anne Marie, if you want to learn how to knit, I’ll teach you myself.”
It occurred to Anne Marie that what she really wanted was a class. She’d rejected line dancing because that had seemed like an overwhelming social occasion; a small knitting group was far less threatening. Other than the Valentine’s event with the widows, she hadn’t gone anywhere or done much of anything since Robert’s funeral. Until now, the mere thought of making cheerful conversation with anyone outside the bookstore was beyond her. She decided she could ease into socializing with a knitting class. A few like-minded women, all focused on the same task…
“I appreciate the offer,” Anne Marie told Lydia. “However, I think Margaret’s probably right. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Let me know if that noontime beginner class pans out.”
“Of course.”
After they’d exchanged farewells, Anne Marie picked up her shopping bags and left the yarn store. As she strolled past the shop window she noticed Whiskers, Lydia’s cat, curled up in a basket of red wool. When Anne Marie walked Baxter, he often stood on his hind legs, front paws against the window, fixated on Lydia’s cat—who wanted nothing to do with him.
Hauling the scrapbooking supplies upstairs to her apartment, Anne Marie set her bags on the kitchen table, then scooped up her dog, stroking his silky fur. “Hey, Mr. Baxter. I just saw your friend Whiskers.”
He wriggled excitedly and she put him down, collecting a biscuit from a box on the counter. “Here you go.” She smiled as he loudly crunched his cookie, licking up each and every crumb. “Maybe I’ll knit you a little coat sometime…and maybe I won’t.”
Now that a knitting class apparently wasn’t a sure thing, Anne Marie was shocked at how discouraged she felt. One roadblock, and she was ready to pack it in. Less than a year ago, hardly anything seemed to defeat her, but these days even the most mundane problems were disheartening.
At least Baxter’s needs were straightforward and easily met, and he viewed her with unwavering devotion. There was comfort in that.
Eager to start her scrapbook project, she got to work. The three-ring binder was black with a clear plastic cover. For the next thirty minutes she cut out letters, decorated them with glitter glue and pasted them on a bright pink sheet. Then she slipped it behind the cover so the front of the binder read TWENTY WISHES. In addition to the binder, Anne Marie had purchased twenty plastic folders, one for each wish.
She became so involved in her work that it was well past one before she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch. She emptied a can of soup into a bowl, and it was heating in the microwave when her phone rang.
Startled, she picked up the receiver on the first ring. The beeper went off at the same time, indicating that her meal was ready.
“Hello,” she said, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she opened the microwave. She rarely got calls at home anymore. In the weeks after Robert’s funeral, she’d heard from a number of couples they’d been friends with, but those people had gradually drifted away. Anne Marie hadn’t made the effort to keep in touch, either. It was easier to lose herself in her grief than to reach out to others.
“Anne Marie, it’s Lillie. Guess what?” her friend said breathlessly.
“What?” Hearing the excitement in Lillie’s voice lifted her own spirits.
“Remember what you said Valentine’s night?”
Anne Marie frowned. “Not exactly. I said various things. Which one do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Elise was talking about eating something to feel better and then someone else—me, I think—brought up volunteering and you said…” She giggled. “You asked why we couldn’t just buy ourselves something.”
Anne Marie smiled. She’d been joking at the time, but it appeared that Lillie had taken her seriously. “Are you about to tell me you bought yourself something?”
“I sure did,” Lillie said gleefully.
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense. What did you get?”
Lillie giggled again. “A brand-new shiny red convertible.”
“No!”