The Shop on Blossom Street. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
her own joke, but no one else joined in.
“I was on this drug that stimulates the ovaries to produce eggs, and once the eggs appeared, they had to be harvested.”
“Did it hurt?” Jacqueline asked.
“Only slightly, but all I had to do was think about a baby, and any discomfort was worth it. We both want to be parents so badly.”
That much was obvious, and from what I’d seen of Carol I was sure she’d be a wonderful mother.
“After the doctor collected Doug’s sperm, my eggs were inseminated to create a number of embryo cultures. These are then transferred to my uterus. We’ve had two attempts that didn’t succeed, and the insurance company will only pay for three and, well, it’s just very important that I get pregnant this time.”
“It seems to me you’re putting lots of stress on yourself,” Alix said in what I found to be an insightful comment.
“How nerve-racking for you both,” Jacqueline murmured.
“I feel so confident, though.” Carol positively beamed with it. “I’m not sure why, but for the first time in months I feel really good about all of this. We decided to wait after our last attempt. Mostly because Doug and I needed a while to deal with our disappointment over the second failure. I also felt it was necessary to prepare myself physically and mentally. But it’s going to work this time. I just know we’re going to have our baby.”
“I hope you do,” Alix said. “People who want children should have them.”
“There’s always adoption,” Jacqueline said. “Have you considered that?”
“We have,” Carol replied. “It’s a viable option, but we don’t want to try for adoption until we’ve done everything possible to have a biological child.”
“From what I understand, there’s quite a waiting period,” Jacqueline said and then seemed to regret speaking.
“Yes, I know … Doug and I have talked about that, too. We might have to look into an overseas adoption but we’ve read that those can be difficult. Anyway, these are all options we’re willing to consider if we can’t have our own child, but we’ll make those decisions when and if the time comes.”
I waited a moment and then gestured to Alix. “Tell us a little about yourself.”
Alix shrugged. “My name’s Alix Townsend and I work at the video store across the street.”
I hoped she wouldn’t mention working on the baby blanket to deduct hours from her court-ordered community service, but I couldn’t stop her if she did. Once Jacqueline heard that, I figured she’d probably walk right out of the class. Forgive me for being so mercenary, but Jacqueline would buy far more yarn than Alix ever could.
“I happen to like living in this neighborhood,” Alix said pointedly, “and I hope I can continue to live here once they’re through screwing up the street.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared across the table.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jacqueline muttered. “I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“I thought,” I said, still standing, “that we could discuss the different weights and types of yarn for our first lesson.” I felt an urgent need to distract Alix, although I was a strong supporter of the Linus Project. “The pattern I’ve chosen is one of my favorites. What I like about this particular pattern is that it’s challenging enough to keep you interested, but not so difficult as to discourage you. It’s done in a four-ply worsted weight yarn and knits up fairly quickly.”
I had a large wicker basket filled with samples of several worsted weight yarns in a variety of colors. “I know it might sound rather self-serving, but I feel I should mention something here. Always buy high-quality yarn. When you’re investing your time and effort in a project, you defeat yourself before you even start if you use bargain-basement yarn.”
“I agree one-hundred percent,” Jacqueline said firmly. I’d known she wouldn’t have a problem with that.
“What if some people can’t afford the high-priced stuff?” Alix demanded.
“Well, yes, that could make things difficult.”
“You said anyone taking the class gets a twenty-percent discount on yarn. Are you sticking to that or have you changed your mind?”
“I’m sticking to it,” I assured her.
“Good, because I don’t have a lot of change jingling around in the bottom of my purse.” She reached for a pretty pink-and-white blend of wool and acrylic. “This costs how much?”
“Five dollars a skein.”
“For each one?” A horrified look came over her.
I nodded.
“How many would I need if I knit the blanket using this?”
I glanced down at the pattern and then calculated the yardage of the worsted against the total amount of yarn required for the project. I grabbed my calculator. “It looks like five should do nicely. If you only use four you can return the fifth one to me for a full refund.”
Alix stood and reached into her pocket and dragged out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “I can only buy one this week, but I should be able to pick up the second one next week, if that’s all right.”
“It’s important to get the same dye lot for each project, so I’ll put aside what you need and you can pay me as you go.”
Alix looked pleased. “That works for me. I suppose the lady married to that fancy architect can buy all the yarn in your shop.”
“My name is Jacqueline and I’d prefer that you use it.”
“I’d like you all to choose your yarn now, if you would,” I said quickly, cutting the two of them off before Alix leaped across the table and attacked Jacqueline. I hated to admit it, but the older woman wasn’t the most personable soul. Her attitude, although different, wasn’t any better than Alix’s.
Jacqueline sat by herself and took up half the table. When Carol arrived, she’d had no choice but to sit next to Alix. It was clear from Jacqueline’s manner that she expected to be catered to, not only in this class, but in life.
I couldn’t help wondering what I’d gotten myself into with these knitting classes, and frankly I was worried. I’d thought … I’d hoped to make friends with my customers, but this was starting off all wrong.
The class lasted two hours and we barely got through casting on stitches. I chose the knitting on method, which is by far the simplest way to learn but not the preferred method. I didn’t want to overwhelm my three students during their first lesson.
I had reason to doubt my teaching abilities by the end of the class. Carol picked up the technique immediately, but Alix was all fingers. Jacqueline didn’t take to it quickly, either. When at last it was closing time, my head was pounding with an approaching headache and I felt as if I’d run a marathon.
It didn’t help that Margaret phoned just as I was getting ready to close for the day.
“A Good Yarn,” I said, scooping up the receiver, hoping to sound upbeat and eager to be of service.
“It’s me,” my sister returned in a crisp business tone. With a voice like that, she should be working for the Internal Revenue Service. “I thought we should discuss Mother’s Day.”
She was right. Opening the store had so completely consumed me that I hadn’t remembered. “Of course, we need to do something special for Mom.” It would be our first Mother’s Day without Dad and I realized it was going to be difficult for all of us, but especially for Mom. Despite our differences, Margaret and I did something together every year to honor our mother.
“The girls suggested we take her to lunch on Saturday. We’re