A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)

A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2) Page 31

She was no longer trying to fill the hollowness inside.

CHAPTER 25

“Knitters just naturally create communities of friends and newfound friends at work, after work, or on the Internet, sharing their passion for knitting.”

Warm Up America! Foundation

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I’d been spending a lot of time outside the shop, talking to the loan managers at three local banks. I had to do something to help Margaret, but because of my medical history I was afraid I’d be refused a loan. My suspicions were right—until I talked to a wonderful manager at the third bank I tried. My business had been open for a little more than a year, I was showing a profit, and my latest checkup with Dr. Wilson had revealed that I was cancer-free. Seattle First, a small neighborhood bank, looked everything over and agreed to give me the loan. This was a red-letter day in my life as a business-woman. I was able to apply for and receive a loan! Definitely cause for celebration.

Margaret knew nothing about what I was doing. She made an effort to put on a brave front, the same way I did when it came to Brad. Matt still didn’t have a job in his field. He’d worked as an electrical engineer for Boeing, but I wasn’t really sure what he did. He’d recently found a job painting houses; I knew he hated it, but it brought in a paycheck, and with the little bit I paid Margaret they were managing to stay afloat. Except for their missed mortgage payments…

I signed the loan papers the first Monday in August. The summer was flying by, and I hadn’t accomplished any of what I’d hoped. Earlier in the spring, Brad had promised to build me additional shelves for the yarn. We’d spent a few very satisfying Sunday afternoons working everything out on paper, measuring and designing the cubicles so they’d fit properly. I’d looked forward to helping him build them; so had Cody.

I needed new shelves, but that would have to wait, along with an idea I wanted to borrow from another store. In almost every yarn shop, space is a major consideration. There are so many new yarns and hand-dyed wools available that displaying them could be difficult. The particular store I’d visited in the north end of King County suspended hanks of brightly colored hand-dyed wool from the ceiling. It was clever and effective, and I’d hoped to do the same thing in a small section of A Good Yarn. Brad had said he’d place the screws in the ceiling for me.

I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own, but I hadn’t done it. For some reason, I didn’t seem able to move forward. Every improvement Brad and I had discussed, I’d put off. I just didn’t have the heart for it.

Once I’d deposited the check in my account and had a cashier’s check made out to Margaret, I drove to my sister’s house. We’d talked briefly on Sunday and I’d casually asked her if she had any plans for today. Nothing much, she’d told me.

Margaret was outside watering her flower beds when I parked on the street. Absorbed in thought, she apparently didn’t hear or see me.

“Hey, big sister!” I called out in order to get her attention.

She started at the sound of my voice, and her hand jerked, sending a spray of water onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?” she snapped.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“This couldn’t have waited until Tuesday?”

“Not really.”

Margaret is always gruff when she’s upset. Over the past year, I’d learned a great deal about her personality. She’ll never be a vivacious, friendly sort of person, and I don’t think she really knows how brusque she often sounds. She’d been a big help to me—still is—and while I pay her a salary, she could make a higher wage elsewhere. I wanted to do something for her and Matt, just…just because she’s my sister. Just so she’d know how much I love her.

“Do you need anything?” Margaret asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“A glass of iced tea would be nice.”

Margaret hesitated before agreeing with a sigh and a nod of her head. She walked over to the side of the house, turned off the water and marched up the porch steps.

I followed her into the house and immediately saw the cardboard boxes cluttering the living room.

“We can’t make the payment deadline, so there’s no use pretending we can,” Margaret said before I could ask. “We have until Friday before the bank files an eviction notice. It’s bad enough to lose the house, but I don’t want to drag my family through the humiliation of being evicted.”

In the kitchen, too, I saw a number of boxes stacked in the corner. I was grateful I’d managed to get the loan when I did.

“I probably shouldn’t worry about watering the yard,” Margaret commented, “but I had to get out of here for a while.” She took two tumblers from the cupboard. “It’s just too depressing.”

“I thought it was best to talk to you right away,” I said, leading carefully into the reason for my visit. “Instead of waiting until morning,” I added.

“Talk to me about what?” Setting the glasses on the table, Margaret sat down across from me.

“You know how much I appreciate the fact that you’re working with me,” I said.

“But?” she said cynically.

“But nothing.”

Her eyes widened. “You aren’t going to fire me?”

“Why would I fire you? I need you. No, I’m here to help.”

Again Margaret had a suspicious look. “Help me do what? Pack up our belongings?”

I decided it was pointless to discuss this when I was sitting with a cashier’s check in my purse. I opened my handbag and handed it to Margaret.

My sister took the check, read it, then frowned across the table at me. “Where did you get this money?” she demanded. “You went to Mom, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said. One thing my sister had in abundance was pride. She’d absolutely insisted Mom not know about this. I’d kept my promise and hadn’t breathed a word to our mother.

“I got a bank loan,” I said, unable to squelch my glee. “Think of it, Margaret. This is a huge step forward for me. A bank was willing to lend me money.” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “That says something, doesn’t it? They seem to think I’m a good risk.”

My sister held the check with both hands as if she were afraid to release it. “What did you tell the bank?”

“They didn’t ask too many questions.” A slight exaggeration. I’d been drilled by one officer and then another, and I’d filled out as many forms as if I were being admitted to the hospital.

“You used the shop as collateral?”

I nodded. “It’s all I have.” That was true. My entire future, all I have and all I ever hope to have, is tied up in my yarn store.

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears and she tried twice before she was able to speak. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Too late. It’s already done.” Knowing Margaret, I’d expected an argument. That was one reason I’d had the cashier’s check made out in her name. “You’re going to take that check, Margaret,” I said using my sternest voice, “and give it to the mortgage company first thing tomorrow.”

“I…I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can pay you back,” she muttered.

I should have explained this earlier. “It isn’t a loan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m giving you the money.”

Stunned at first, Margaret said nothing, then shook her head. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“I mean it. The money is a gift.” I’d thought very carefully about this. If I made the ten thousand dollars a loan, it would always come between us. My relationship with my sister was too important to risk problems over money. As far as I was concerned, this was the best way to handle it.

“I’m paying you back every cent,” my sister said, still on the verge of tears.

“Margaret,” I said, stretching my arm across the table to take her hand. “I repeat—the money is a gift.”

“One I fully intend on repaying with interest once Matt’s back on the job.”

I could see that arguing with her was pointless. “Do whatever you feel you have to, but this isn’t a debt or a loan or anything. It’s a…a gift of love, from me to you. One day, who knows, I might need your help. I have in the past.” Maybe not financial support, but emotional. “Don’t you remember last year when I had that cancer scare? You were with me every single day. I couldn’t have made it through that time without you. Now it’s my turn.”

Big tears finally spilled down her face and she struggled to speak. “Thank you,” she managed in a hoarse croak.

I finished my iced tea and went home with a good feeling, grateful for the opportunity to help my sister. Although my store is officially closed on Mondays, I’m almost always there. I use Mondays to clear off my desk, process paperwork, place orders and get caught up on business.

Whiskers greeted me as I came into the shop, weaving between my legs and making a general nuisance of himself. My cat objects to being alone for long periods. I’d been away for a good part of the morning, and Whiskers wasn’t happy with me. I crouched down and petted him, running my hand along his fur from ears to tail. He purred his appreciation as I murmured endearments.

That was when I saw the business-size envelope on the floor, some distance from the mail slot. Someone had apparently slipped a letter under my door. I couldn’t imagine who or why. I straightened and walked over to pick it up.

Almost immediately I recognized Cody’s printing. LYDIA was penciled across the front, with the Y and D almost double the size of the other letters.

Heart pounding, I tore open the note. It was a simple message. I MISS YOU. CAN I SEE YOU SOME TIME? Without meaning to, I crumpled the paper in my hands. Since my last meeting with Brad, when he’d announced that he was going back to Janice, I hadn’t said a word to him. Not a single word. He’d come into the shop any number of times on business, but Margaret had always been there to run interference.

I doubted Brad knew anything about this note. He’d abided by my wishes and not contacted me. I suspected even more strongly that the one time Brad’s name had come up on my Caller ID, it hadn’t been Brad at all, but his son. Cody hadn’t phoned since, probably on strict orders from his father.

As I looked out the window, I noticed the UPS truck parked across the street. He wasn’t inside. Before I could change my mind or reconsider the wisdom of what I was about to do, I unlocked the door and walked outside to see him. I wasn’t sure where he was making his delivery, but I knew that sooner or later he’d reappear.

I surveyed the neighborhood and was about to cross the street when he stepped out of the floral shop next door to me.

“Brad,” I said, stopping him. “Could we talk for just a moment?” I made an effort to sound unaffected.

He seemed surprised, but nodded. “Sure.”