Knit in Comfort (9 page)

Megan smiled, she always smiled, panic welling, tears rising that she hoped the girls would think were from the warmth of her generous heart. “Of course we can help, Sally. We'll make that dress into your dream come true.”

Sally got to her feet, hand to her chest as if her joy were too intense to be borne sitting. “Oh, Megan. Oh wow. This is so fantastic. I don't know how I could
ever
thank you.”

Megan stood and hugged her, lingered long enough to look as if she were enjoying Sally's excitement, then excused herself and went into their downstairs bathroom to get herself back under control. Inside, door locked, standing at the sink, tears running down her face, a thought started her laughing.

She was beginning to understand David's fury at squirrels.

E
lizabeth sat in the eagle-decorated rocker by her afternoon view of the mountains, window curtained with the lace she was struggling to knit. Behind her the air conditioner near her bed hummed a monotone serenade. She'd woken relaxed, focused and centered; the mood had stayed with her all day. A week in North Carolina and she hadn't once felt the need to meditate to lift her mood and/or soothe the chaos of her thoughts. As if she needed any more proof that Comfort was good for her.

Another knit, another yarn-over. She still made mistakes and dropped stitches, still had to stop frequently to peer at the chart, but not as often as when she started. The inch or so hanging from her needles didn't look like what Vera and Megan made, but…miracle of miracles, her clumsy holes had assumed a regular pattern. Unmistakably. She felt as if she'd
created a new wonder of the world. Enough practice and once Megan designed the additions to Sally's dress, Elizabeth should be able to contribute, which made her ridiculously pleased.

Sometime soon she hoped to internalize the pattern, as Vera promised would happen, instead of having to follow the chart. Then maybe less frustration and eventually, the hoped-for connection to the women of Shetland. Maybe she'd learn something from them.

Since Elizabeth had quit her secretary job to start her own business, first as an interior decorator, then event planner, then wedding consultant, now fabric designer, she'd tried hard to feel that sense of purpose, of proprietary pride, the drive of doing what needed to be done to succeed and to flourish. Instead, in each case she'd felt like a fake. Maybe all her businesses had failed so far because she knew deep down she wasn't doing what she was meant to do. Maybe lace knitting would turn out to be the reason her
babcia
sent her here.

Elizabeth grinned ruefully. Apparently, she was now buying into the signs-from-the-universe philosophy she'd scorned so insistently as a girl.

An odd metallic chirping sounded outside, growing louder, accompanied by the noise of a car engine pulling into the driveway.

“
Dad's home!
”

Stanley! Elizabeth half rose, then forced herself to knit to the next marker so she wouldn't lose her place. Outside, feet pounded; the back door slammed. Stanley was home! Megan had mentioned he was arriving, but later tonight. Elizabeth couldn't wait to meet the
pater
of this idyllic family.

Knit two together, yarn-over, knit, knit, knit. Done. She
jammed point protectors on the needles, stuffed the soft wool into the Ingles Market plastic bag Megan found for her, ran to the window and peered out.

A large man, very tall, lean and handsome, medium brunet, like Jeffrey and Deena, with his mother's high forehead and a less pronounced version of her bulbed nose, under which sat a full, neat mustache. He was grinning, holding squealing Lolly in one arm, laughing Deena in the other, and whirling them around so hard their legs flung out. Jeffrey danced nearby on his skinny limbs, unsteady from what must have already been his turn in Dad's arms. How often had Elizabeth fantasized about her own father coming back exactly like this?

Megan stepped out of the house, gathering her hair into a fresh ponytail, welcoming smile making her face glow. Stanley stopped spinning and met her eyes over the heads of their children, in that split second ceasing to be Father and becoming Husband.

Every woman in the world wanted to be looked at like that.

The scene blurred. Elizabeth impatiently wiped the moisture from her eyes. Megan approached; the children receded so their parents could greet one another.

A tear trickled down Elizabeth's cheek. Another one. Stanley took Megan's face in his hands and kissed her reverently, then enveloped her in a long, rocking hug.

The trickles became downspouts. Elizabeth backed away from the window and sank numbly into the rocker. What the hell was the matter with her?

“Elizabeth!” Stanley's rich tenor voice. “Hey,
Elizabeth!
”

She took a long, shaky breath, grabbed a tissue to wipe eyes and blow nose, then checked out her slightly damp appear
ance in the mirror. Pleading an allergy attack was always an option.

“C'mon down and say hello!”

“Coming!” Down the stairs into Megan's hot, peaceful garden, then around to the driveway where Vera stood in front of her son, hands reaching up to his shoulders, beaming into his face.

“Here's Elizabeth, Dad!”

“Hey there!” He broke away from his mother and strode to meet her, hand confidently outstretched, unusual gold eyes brimming with warmth and humor. “Glad to meet you. Megan says you're a regular part of the family by now.”

Elizabeth took his hand, as happy as she'd been miserable moments ago. Sadness couldn't exist around this life force of a man gripping her hand, grinning as if meeting her was the highlight of his week.

“Only because this family is the best anyone could have.” She looked past him to include Megan in the compliment and saw her smile tighten.

How could Elizabeth have said the wrong thing this time?

“I couldn't agree more.” Stanley dropped her hand and walked back to his wife. “A wonderful family.”

Instead of comforting her, his words seemed to make Megan stiffer. “Come on in, Stanley. I wasn't expecting you before dinner, but there's plenty. Lolly can quick help make some more—”

“No!” He held up his hand. “No cooking for you tonight. I've brought dinner, which we are all taking…”

The silence stretched, kids breathlessly waiting for whatever was coming.

“…to Lake Lure for a picnic.”

Shouts of delight, arms thrust into the air, legs sashaying.

Elizabeth pressed her hands together in front of her mouth, a grateful happy prayer. They'd have such a good time. She wished she could be a fly on the—

“You too, Elizabeth.”

“Oh, no.” She turned her hands palms out. “You've just come home. I'm not
that
much a part of the family.”

“Aw, c'mon, Elizabeth.” From Jeffrey. “We want you there.”

“Sure, sure, come along.” Vera beckoned toward the blue minivan in the driveway. “But don't bring knitting, you'll never get the sand out. I'm teaching her lace, Stanley.”

“Really.” Stanley glanced at his wife before nodding approvingly at Elizabeth. He stood solidly planted, a natural part of Megan's backyard landscape. “That's wonderful. It's a beautiful talent.”

“Not the way I do it.”

A hearty laugh, as if he thought she'd made a really fabulous joke, which made Elizabeth laugh too. The man could probably sell you your own teeth. He reminded her of Dominique, joyful, indomitable, with that magnetic and very sexy intensity.

“So, my beautiful cook.” He squeezed Megan to him, making her shoulder hunch to her ear. “Am I ruining your dinner plans?”

“Not at all.” Megan laid her hand on his chest and pushed gently away. “Since it's hot, I was just going to have a big salad with grilled cheese sandwiches. Nothing that can't keep until tomorrow. Elizabeth, you should come with us. You'll enjoy the lake. It's beautiful, and only about a twenty-minute drive.”

“The lake! The lake! Woohoo!” Deena and Lolly were do
ing a do-si-do swing in the driveway while Jeffrey waggled his arms and knees in his own private chicken dance.

“If you're sure…” Who knew whether she was? Megan would probably be polite to a mugger. But Elizabeth really wanted to go, so she would.

“Bring your suit, we'll swim! I'll show you my weird frog kick.” Jeffrey dropped to a crouch. “Ribbit, ribbit.”

“Jeffrey, go get ready. Girls, you'll need suits, towels—”

“We kno-o-w,” Lolly sang.

The kids jostled into the house; Elizabeth scurried up to her rooms and changed into her Comfort-purchased demure navy and white swimsuit, glad she had something to replace her plunging black one with side cutouts, which would undoubtedly have scandalized Vera.

Last time she'd been on a country picnic was three—or four?—years ago, with Dominique in the South of France, a basket of pâté and a baguette, heavenly cheeses, wild strawberries and local wine. They'd sat on a rocky outcropping among hills and fragrances of lavender and thyme. He'd told her his dreams for his new restaurant, the menu, the decor, the clientele he hoped to attract, then his dreams of translating that success into an international food empire. She'd been so overwhelmed by this cosmopolitan man who wanted the world on his half shell, and so turned on by his confidence and determination, she'd seduced him right there under the hot Provençal sun. Afterward he'd proposed, the first time, and bliss had fled from pursuing panic.

But she'd loved France. Finally she understood why Dominique complained about the lack of aesthetics in American lives. Elizabeth had wanted to return to that purity of experi
ence, to dive into the
S'il vous plait, Madame
and
Il n'y a pas de quoi, Monsieur
, to have butter so good the always freshly baked bread was an excuse, to walk down a street and be able to look into shop windows with the appreciation of someone taking in an art gallery. But after that trip Dominique had always gone alone.

Here in Comfort, she had a variation of that purity of experience. The trip to Lake Lure through the green hills was like something out of a Hollywood family road-trip movie. Stanley bellowed out songs, “Oh! Susanna” and “Over the Rainbow” the kids joined in with enthusiasm from the third row of seats, Lolly in a pop-influenced nasal croon, Jeffrey in a surprisingly sweet soprano, and Deena with spirit but not much sense of pitch. Vera, next to Stanley in the front, would once in a while turn and smile at him. Behind them Megan sat next to Elizabeth; she laughed sometimes, but didn't join in the singing. The joy in the car was palpable. How the kids must miss their dad when he was gone, and vice versa, to unleash this much happiness at the reunion.

At the lake Stanley paid the beach fee, waving off Elizabeth's attempt to take care of it, “When I'm staying at your house, you can pay.”

The area was gorgeous, the long narrow Lake Lure man-made by damming the Rocky Broad River. Around it, forested hills bent thirstily to the water or stood proudly, green tops balding here and there to gray ledges. A breeze blew away some of the heat, though just the sight of the lake made Elizabeth feel cooler. The kids ran shrieking toward the water while the grown-ups trudged to a likely picnic spot, carrying coolers of soda and of food Stanley had bought from Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Stanley spread the blanket, Megan unpacked non-perishables and a few cans of soda; Vera unfolded a chair and swung up an awning from its back to protect herself from the sun. Peace and cooperation. In Elizabeth's family, there had always been bickering, always disagreement—where should we eat, how long should we stay, what SPF sunscreen is the right one—Mom and
Babcia
quarreling in rapid Polish, Mom and Elizabeth in shrill English. When it was Elizabeth and Dominique, he decided and she chose: fight or fall in line.

Stanley wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Elizabeth, there's another chair in the car…”

His thoughtfulness touched her. “I'm okay on the blanket, thanks.”

“Shouldn't we eat before the food spoils in this weather?”

“It'll be fine, hon.” Stanley dropped onto the blanket next to his wife and kissed her bare shoulder, his reassurance dismissing even the idea of food poisoning. “I only just picked it up in Hendersonville on the way home.”

“If you're sure.” Megan passed out diet root beer and flavored sparkling water, diet ginger ale for Vera. The heat flushed her face, brought out the hazel beauty of her eyes. She was obviously so happy to have her husband home, her family complete.

Elizabeth turned away and scanned the idyllic scenery, trying to picture Dominique here with them. He'd enjoy the lake, complain that it was too hot, take one look at the food and go off on one of his lectures about how Americans had become so accustomed to boxed, chemical-laden, processed, mass-produced food that they'd lost their taste for real ingredients. He was undoubtedly right, but Elizabeth was relieved not having to hear about it.

“So you're from Manhattan, Elizabeth?” Stanley turned to
ward her on his elbow, head and shoulders visible behind Megan's torso, long legs stretched on her other side.

“Most recently, yes. Before that, Boston, before that, Milwaukee.”

“And your boyfriend is a chef. How did you meet him?”

“At a friend's party. In Manhattan.” She was ridiculously pleased Stanley seemed so interested and wished she had one of Dominique's cards with her. “My then-boyfriend and I were on our last legs in Boston, so I went to New York to visit my friend alone. Dominique was celebrating his graduation from the CIA—”

“Mercy.” Vera put down
People
magazine.

“No, no, the Culinary Institute of America.”

People
went back up.

“He said he picked me out because I looked like I needed cheering up.”

“And he did the job?” Stanley winked, which made Elizabeth blush stupidly.

“I wasn't that interested at first, but he was—
is
very magnetic, very charming and very persuasive when he wants something.”

“And he wanted you,” Stanley said.

Elizabeth dug her fingers into the soft white sand. “I didn't stand a chance.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Elizabeth peered back at Vera. “How so?”

“That's how it was with them.” She gestured to Stanley and Megan. “She didn't stand a chance.”

“I think we should eat. I'll call the kids to dinner.” Megan stood and walked toward the shore, feminine and curvy in a green one-piece under khaki shorts.

Elizabeth turned to Stanley, caught by the passion he felt for his wife. “Tell me how you met Megan.”