Knit in Comfort (22 page)

“Have you ever met her?” Elizabeth inadvertently added a stripe of chocolate to her chin. “The other wife? I wonder what she's like.”

“Gillian to my Fiona.”

“How do you know that?”

“I found her picture in his wallet. Years ago. But I knew anyway. He dated you, Ella, for years, look at you.” She gestured to Ella's perfect makeup, chic black sleeveless top and well-muscled arms. “Where else would he turn when Fiona didn't measure up?”

“Oh, give me a break. What makes you think you're the problem?” Ella threw down her spoon in disgust. “Why isn't it just some sick deviance in your darling husband? From what Vera let slip to me, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I guess Rocky kept his Bullwinkle busy, too.”

Elizabeth put a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting ice cream. Even Megan started giggling.

“Oh God,” Ella whispered. “Duck. It's Betty Ethers. She'll want to join us and eat the whole sundae.”

“Too late,” murmured Megan.

“Hey, girls.” Betty waddled the last few steps to their table, forehead creased with concern. “Megan, you just can't imagine how sorry I am to hear about that rat husband of yours. Is Vera okay? She hasn't shown up to play cards all week. Tell her us girls are worried sick about her.”

“I will. Thanks, Betty.”

“Oh my.” Her eyes lit up at the half-empty ice-cream bucket. “Doesn't that look good.”

“Yup.” Ella defiantly ignored etiquette and didn't ask her to join them, shook her head when Megan started to. “It's delicious.”

“Oh…Well…” She waited a few more hopeful seconds. “You enjoy yourselves. I'll be getting home now. Got to put up some peach jam.”

“Okay, then.” Ella all but shooed her away.

“Nice to meet you, Betty,” Elizabeth called after her, then settled back in to the table. “Okay, I get it. Small town. Not much privacy.”

“Like a nudist colony,” Ella said.

“But all these people care about you. If my life fell apart in New York, I could cry for three hours in a café and no one would even take notice.”

Megan watched Betty waddle away. At least one decision had been reached today. She had to move away from Comfort. She couldn't stay here.

“How y'all doing?” Kerry walked by and patted their table. “Is that bucket okay?”

“Needs more fat and sugar.” Ella's smile turned weary when Kerry didn't seem to get the joke. “We're fine. Thank you.”

“You know what I think?” Elizabeth waggled her spoon thoughtfully.

“No, but we're about to find out,” said Ella.

“I think you should meet her.” Elizabeth lifted her caramel and chocolate-speckled chin. “The other wife, I mean.”

Megan stiffened. “What on
earth
for?”

“I'm not exactly sure. I just have this idea that she holds the key for you.”

Megan put down her spoon, picked up her coffee, not sure she should be trading a sugar buzz for caffeine when her hands were already shaking. “The key to what?”

“Figuring it all out.”

“Figuring all
what
out?”

Elizabeth looked up from the bucket in amazement, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who you are. And what you need to do now to change your life.”

“What makes you think I want to?”

Elizabeth looked at her with sympathy. Megan wanted to lunge across the table and dump the bucket on her head. “You can't go on the way you have been, Megan.”

“You may be onto something, Ms. Elizabeth. Gillian came to Fiona after Calum was gone. You mix it up and go to Gillian. Talk to her and decide either to fight for Stanley or go the opposite route and tell her she can have the jerk.”

Megan put the cup down. The ice cream and caffeine were mixing with stress to make her stomach gurgly and unstable. She was afraid she might cry again. “But I don't know which one I want. If either.”

“Go see her. I'll come with you if you want.” Elizabeth nodded firmly, a trace of whipped cream lodged in the corner of her mouth. “I guarantee she'll have your answer.”

D
inner was the quietest since Elizabeth had arrived in Comfort three weeks earlier. The kids were somber. Neither Elizabeth nor Megan had appetites due to stress and ice cream. Vera had finally emerged from her room, but barely spoke beyond assuring the children she was feeling better, and saying yes, no, please and thank you to offers of potato salad, hot dogs and carrot sticks. Even Jeffrey only asked what Elizabeth would rather have, a seal that shot rockets or a rocket that shot seals.

Afterward, plates in the dishwasher, leftovers back in the refrigerator, pots scrubbed, dried and put away, the kids went to play with similar-aged friends down the street. Vera, Elizabeth and Megan intersected in the hallway outside the kitchen.

Megan sent the front door a look of loathing. “Why don't we have the group sit out back in the garden tonight? Vera, we can move your rocker if you want.”

“The garden? What for?”

“We're living on the edge.” Elizabeth didn't wait for Vera's response, went out onto the porch with Megan. They lifted the rocker together and carried it down the driveway, settled it on the patio where it looked oddly out of place. Elizabeth went upstairs to get her knitting and something warmer than her sleeveless top. She was pleased with how her part of Sally's hem decoration looked, but as much as she loved the idea of creating something so beautiful, she was discovering pretty fast that lace knitting wasn't her thing. Maybe Vera could manage to connect spiritually to all the women of Shetland throughout time, but Elizabeth was just connecting to crankiness and impatience. Following the chart was grueling and the ultra-thin thread meant progress was measured in millimeters. Elizabeth liked bulky knits you could add six inches to in an evening.

In her dresser, stuffed under a cotton sweater, she came across the Ingles Market bag containing her very first attempt at lace and the thick rolled paper on which she'd painted her fabric design. She'd meant to ask Megan's opinion, but the time had never seemed right, and Elizabeth hadn't been inspired to work on it further. Maybe tonight, since she and Megan finally managed decent bonding earlier over ice cream.

She brought the painting downstairs and outside into the still, cool evening, where Vera and Megan were knitting away already, the pattern falling from their needles delicate and intricate, a graceful interweaving of diamonds, fans and spiderwebs.

Elizabeth put her painting on the patio table, feeling awkward and vulnerable. “I brought something to show you, Megan. It's a fabric design, inspired by the mountains and hawks around Lake Lure. But it's missing something, it's not quite…I just can't tell.”

Megan unrolled the watercolor, which looked even more rough and amateur under the gaze of the woman who'd produced the gorgeous garden around them, and all that lace.

“Oh, it's lovely.” Her voice was overly polite. Even though Elizabeth expected the reaction, agreed with the implied assessment, her heart sank.

“But…?” she asked hopefully.

“I'm no expert. But I'd say it needs more movement here.” She pointed to a spot between two brown squiggles. “And less here. You're trying to create a flying motion with these birds, and you almost have, but they're not quite going anywhere. It's static. The colors need to shift here to here, and deepen there, so that you can direct the eye—”

She looked guiltily up at Elizabeth. “Sorry, I'm getting carried away.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Elizabeth forced her frozen smile to thaw. “It's exactly what I asked you to do.”

“I wouldn't get so excited about fixing it if I didn't really like it to begin with.”

“Yes, I know. I appreciate it.” She took the pattern back, pretended to study it and consider Megan's suggestions. She couldn't see what Megan meant or how she envisioned fixing the problem, couldn't even connect with the flash of inspiration she'd had at the lake, or remember what had been so exciting about the moment.

She wasn't a designer. Dominique was right. She was a pretender. And if she wasn't a designer—she was back to square one, lost again. Maybe she should marry Dominique just to keep from being swallowed up by her own insignificance. “Those were great suggestions. I'll work on it tomorrow. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Megan picked up her lace eagerly, diving
again into the pattern with barely a glance at her chart. “I hope you go far with it.”

“Me too.” Like all the way to the garbage.

Vera held up her part of the panel. “I've gotten off somewhere on this part and I can't catch it. Help me fix this, Megan. I've just gone back to the diamonds after the spiders.”

Megan dragged her chair next to Vera and bent over the complicated pattern, counting stitches, examining the flow of the threads.

Elizabeth wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Here she was, floundering around, only half good at anything, grabbing on to whatever she could in order to put herself out in the business world and succeed, and this woman sat here, boiling over with genuine talent and wasting it in her backyard.

“Have you ever considered selling your work, Megan? You'd make hundreds on each piece. A
lot
of hundreds.”

“I thought about it at one time.” She answered distractedly, not even titillated by the thought of cash, not even tempted by the lure of success. “Vera, here's where you got off, see? After this web.”

“Oh, yes. I should have known to weave in a lifeline.” She took the lace back, scowling.

“What's a lifeline?” Elizabeth slumped into her chair, figuring it was another thing she could be bad at.

“It's a thread you insert through the loops of a row, usually before you're about to start a pattern change or before an increase or decrease,” Vera said. “I use a contrasting color so I can see it easily. If you make a mistake after that row, you just rip out. The thread will protect and hold what came before, and you can start over with the hard part.”

“Wow.” Elizabeth stared at Vera's thick, lined fingers flying
with the wool. The idea caught her instantly, as if
Babcia
were whispering for her to pay attention. “Do they make those for your life?”

“Wouldn't that be something!”

“Hi, guys.” Ella, lugging a chair from the porch, new energy to her step, smile lacking caution or irony. She'd gotten the job in Atlanta, was leaving within the week. “Sally and Dorene are on their way. I know it's not an official meeting, but we were lonely knitting at home and figured we'd stop by. Is that okay?”

“I'm glad you did.” Megan's enthusiasm was open and genuine. “Can I offer you some—”

“Not a thing. Sit and relax. We're taking care of it.”

“Here we are.” Sally, Dorene with her, also carrying chairs from Megan's front porch. Sally put hers down next to Ella and looked around, inhaling deeply. “Oh it's so pretty. Why haven't we been meeting back here all along?”

“It's the week for getting out of ruts,” Megan said drily.

Elizabeth dragged her lace out of its protective bag, thinking it was her week to get more stuck in hers. Worse, she wasn't immediately calculating how to bounce out.

“What ruts?” Dorene set her chair opposite Vera and collapsed into it. “Break out the food, Sally, I'm exhausted. Today was the craft-fair entry deadline and I was all day logging entries. So many people wait until the last minute.”

Vera peered over her glasses at Ella. “
Imagine
that.”

“I brought Mike's Hard Lemonade and a package of Oreos.” Sally unloaded a cloth shopping bag. “Megan, we didn't want you to have to do anything.”

“Oh, you are sweet.” Megan's hazel eyes were warm with
gratitude. She'd blossomed, strengthened. Even the clothes she wore were brighter today.

“Cara and Jocelyn are back.” Dorene accepted a lemonade from Sally.

“They were
not
encouraged to attend tonight,” Ella said. “Or any other night. As long as they both shall live here.”

Megan's hand froze reaching for her bottle of Mike's. “Never? Because of me?”

“The Purls have come unstrung.” Ella pulled her lace out of its bag; she'd done a good few inches and it looked perfect.

“But…what about your Thursday nights at the Anchor Bar?” Megan scanned her peacefully knitting friends, obviously having a hard time processing this. “And Wednesday-morning manicures? All the time you've spent together…”

“Didn't you say it's the week for getting out of ruts? But wait, there's more.” Ella turned to her left, tapped Sally's chair, the careful languor she'd cultivated having given way to new purpose. “Hey, you. Anything you want to tell us?”

“Foster and I are moving in September.” Sally's gentle voice was eager; her hands moved gracefully over her lace. “His brother is taking over the hardware store. Foster wants to go back to school and get a business degree from UNC Greensboro.”

“And the most important reason…” Ella lifted her drink in a triumphant toast. “He wants to get Sally away from his mother. Finally.”

Toasts all around. Elizabeth drank too much from her bottle. Ella, freed from her bitterness, Megan evolving, Sally escaping into new love—Elizabeth felt orphaned and, childishly, betrayed.

“Wow.” Megan tried to smile bravely. “I'll miss you and Ella both. But I'm very happy for you, Sally, you'll be able to start your marriage with just the two of you. That will be wonderful.”

“Ahem.” Vera sent her a sidelong glance.

“Oh. Vera.” Megan blushed. “I didn't mean—”

“Well, I'm staying here.” Dorene's needles twirled bizarrely; her lace straggly and misshapen. “You'll never guess what happened. Never.”

“You met a guy.”

Dorene gaped at Ella. “How did you know that?”

She shrugged. “It's the only thing I'd never guess.”

“Ha ha ha.”

“Who is he, Dorene?” Sally asked.

“Well.” Dorene settled herself for the forthcoming epic. “Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at the Chit Chat waiting for Cara and Jocelyn.”

“
Et tu
, Dorene?” Ella said.

“I know, I know.” She glanced apologetically at Megan. “But they wanted me to hear their stories about Vegas. Anyway, I was knitting, and I was thinking about Gillian, how she went after everything she wanted like she owned the world, and how if I could be like her I'd have men all over the place. Anyway, right when I was thinking that, I look up and there's this guy who's just come in. He sits in the booth next to mine, gets a cup of coffee, then he starts looking at my lace. And then he looks at me. And then the lace. And then me. And—”

“Got that bit, Dorene.”

Dorene ignored Ella. “I thought, What would Gillian do? So I smiled at him like I'm some way-hot mermaid, and we start talking. He turns out to be Josh Holscombe's cousin! Then right before Cara and Jocelyn came in, I gave him my phone
number. Two days go by and I'm thinking my Gawd, if he doesn't call I'll throw myself off a cliff. But he did! He called and we had a nice talk and we're having coffee next week.”

More congratulations, more toasts. Elizabeth drank deeply again. Colorful, vivid women all around; she felt gray, misty and indistinct.

“Thanks, guys.” Dorene was flushed pink, eyes bright. “I swear all the time we were talking, I felt Gillian there through the lace, helping me find my strength.”

Megan laughed uneasily. “Dorene, my mom made Gillian up.”

“I know. But she's fabulous, such a beautiful, powerful, magical woman. I picture her as Angelina Jolie.”

“No-o-o.” Ella shook her head. “More wholesome-sexy, like Jaclyn Smith.”

“Demi Moore,” Sally said. “Elizabeth, you're quiet tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh. Wow. I guess I hadn't really thought about it.” She riffled quickly through some movie memories. “Selma Blair?”

“Cyd Charisse,” Vera said emphatically.

“Good one.” Sally lifted her chin toward Megan. “You own her more than we do. How do you picture her?”

Megan's shrug lifted her knitting. “Genevieve.”

“Oh, Megan.” Sally's needles stilled; she bit her lip. “I'm sorry. I should have thought.”

“It's fine. Don't be silly.”

“Oh, darnation.” Dorene peered at the chart, back at her knitting and back at the chart. “I did something wrong again. I don't have enough stitches in this section.”

“Give it here, I'll look.” Vera beckoned the lace over. “You need a lifeline about every row, Dorene.”

“I know,” she groaned, getting up to surrender her latest disaster. “This lace stuff is killer. Give me a good stockinette scarf anytime.”

Vera's expert hands checked Dorene's knitting. A squirrel chattered nearby, broadcasting triumph over unfettered access to David's yard. Breezes offered scents of Megan's garden. The more beautiful the surroundings, the more vibrant and cohesive the Purls, the more pale and tortured Elizabeth felt. Where now? What now? She was out of energy to reinvent herself. Too late now, but there must have been a way to avoid hitting this painful and lonely bottom. Somewhere along the way…

“I need to know something from each of you.” She pulled up her needle and turned the work around. “If you could have—”

Ella groaned. “Can we have
one
get-together without your mind games?”

“No.” Elizabeth put up a hand to shush her. She was onto something; her instincts were buzzing like the bees around Megan's mint. “If you could have a lifeline, for your life, where would you weave it in?”

“Elizabeth.” Sally chuckled softly. “You don't mess around with small talk, do you?”

“I don't see the point of having regrets,” Vera said. “If you went back and did one thing differently, you'd just blunder into other mistakes. That's what life is. Here, Dorene, I added another stitch to your section. It won't show.”