The Knitting Circle (26 page)

Lulu grabbed her by the forearms. “Don’t say that. You do. I know what it’s like to lose everything, to feel so hopeless. But you have to keep going.”

Mary let herself be wrapped in Lulu’s arms.

“He left me for someone else,” Mary said into the warmth of Lulu’s shoulder.

AT NIGHT, IT snowed. But every morning the sun emerged and glistened on the bright whiteness that covered everything. The trees shone with ice. The air stayed crisp.

Mary called in sick for the last two weeks of January. She RSVP’d
Yes
and
Ribs
to Eddie’s wedding. At home all day, she baked banana bread and cranberry bread and froze the extras, lining her freezer with the silver-foiled loaves. She bought a new coffeemaker. She ordered Major Dickason’s Blend coffee from Peet’s in San Francisco. She put her yarn in plastic bins and labeled the bins with a magic marker. She cleared her answering machine of all those messages: her mother chastising her for not calling, for not using that ticket to go to Mexico and visit; her friends checking on her from San Francisco, from here in Providence, and her knitting friends; even Connor called several times from Maine, his voice strange to her ears. She pressed the delete button and watched the blinking red light finally come to rest.

“ROW ONE,” ALICE said. “Knit three, purl four, then knit two, purl four seven times.”

Mary bent her head, silently counting off her knits and purls. When she was finished, she looked up, waiting for more instruction.

Lulu was frowning, counting, swearing under her breath, and pulling out stitches. Scarlet was still knitting, her fingers lifting as she counted, keeping track. Ellen’s seat was still empty, and Mary sent a silent wish to her that Bridget would get a donor soon.

“Knit the final three,” Alice said.

Quickly and easily, the yarn the color of persimmons smooth beneath her fingers, Mary knit the last three stitches in that row.

She looked up again, and her eyes settled on Beth this time. Out of bed, dressed in jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, her chenille cap on her head, Beth had improved after all. As if she felt Mary’s eyes on her, Beth looked up too, straight at Mary, and grinned.

“Mary,” she said, “that advice you gave me?”

“Advice?” Mary said.

“Shit,” Lulu muttered, and pulled out more stitches.

“You know,” Beth said. “The advice.” Her eyes twinkled and her cheeks were flushed.

Mary laughed. “Oh,” she said, “that.”

“You were right,” Beth said. “It works. Boy, does it work.”

“Ssshhh,” Lulu said, counting the stitches on her needle.

Beth gave Mary a thumbs-up sign, then looked back at her knitting.

“Row two,” Alice said, “just knit your knits and purl your purls.”

Part Eight

KNITTING

What? You can’t knit in the dark? Stuff and nonsense; anybody can. Shut your eyes. Knit one stitch. Open your eyes and look at the stitch; it’s all right. Shut your eyes and knit two stitches. Open them. Shut them. Knit three stitches…

—ELIZABETH ZIMMERMANN,
Knitter’s Almanac

15

ROGER

THERE WERE HEARTS
everywhere. Sparkling ones dangled from the ceiling, strings of cutout chains of pink and red hearts hung on the walls, shiny red-foil hearts were sprinkled across the tabletops, and dishes of conversation hearts sat as centerpieces.
Kiss me. I luv u. Let’s I M!

Standing amid all the happiness, all the hearts, all the possibility that weddings held, Mary wondered if she would ever again be able to recapture her own heart’s capacity for joy. Instead of opening, her heart squeezed tightly shut when Jessica and Eddie said their vows and gave each other big sloppy kisses.

That morning, on the
Weekend Today
show, Campbell Brown had interviewed a research doctor who had found that stress speeds up the aging process. This is why I look so bad, Mary had decided. Lately, when she looked in the mirror, she surprised herself. Her face had grown slightly jowly, her hair had lost its sheen, and she’d gone up a full size in her jeans, mostly because her ass seemed to have spread.

Mary grabbed another Corona from the silver tub of beer and sidled over to Holly, who stood watching Jessica and Eddie and a bunch of people Mary didn’t know doing the Texas two-step. Jessica wore elaborately designed cowboy boots under her wedding dress, and a white cowboy hat instead of a veil.

“What do you think?” Mary asked Holly.

“Only she could look that good dressed so stupidly.”

Mary sighed. “No stress in her life,” she said.

They watched the dancing some more. Then Mary said,

“What’s in that jar anyway?”

“Uh,” Holly said, “lemonade. Made from real lemons.”

Mary frowned at her. “You’re drinking lemonade.”

Holly laughed nervously.

“At a wedding?” Mary said. All of a sudden, it was as if Mary were seeing Holly for the first time. Her face was slightly puffy, and she had breasts instead of her usual flat chest. “You’re pregnant,” Mary said, that lump in her throat back again.

“Uh,” Holly said. “God. Well. Yes.” She grabbed Mary’s arm.

“I didn’t want to tell you. I was afraid it would make you sad again. And you’ve seemed, not happy exactly, but less sad. You know?”

“You don’t even have a boyfriend,” Mary said.

Holly ran her fingers through her choppy hair. “I know. Isn’t it crazy?”

“So how did it happen?”

“Jeez, Mary. The usual way. I just don’t know who the father is. I mean, I have some ideas, but, you know me. I kind of like variety. It’s the rice of life, right?”

“Spice,” Mary said.

“You are sad now, aren’t you?” Holly chewed her bottom lip, worried. “I’ve made you sad.”

How could Mary admit that weddings and babies made her depressed? Especially to Holly, who was like a big open heart with her skinny-armed hugs and her gooey cakes.

“No, no,” Mary heard herself saying. “I’m happy.”

SCARLET HAD THE next knitting circle at her loft. The smell of sugar and vanilla filled the air, even in the hallway that led to her apartment. They were all making a baby sweater that day. As it turned out, each of them had a pregnant friend and Alice decided to have a baby-sweater knitting circle. “Then our gifts will be finished!” she’d said.

Mary rang the bell and heard Scarlet shout, “It’s open!”

Inside, Scarlet was heating milk for cafés au lait, pouring it into colorful oversized mugs of hot coffee. Warm cinnamon knots and elephant ears dusted in sugar were carefully laid out on a red and yellow tray. Mary watched Scarlet fill one cup with just-steamed milk, then add some almond syrup to it.

“Beth’s here,” Scarlet said. She held up the warm milk. “This is for her.”

Mary took the cup and brought it to Beth, who sat in the living area, dwarfed in the overstuffed chair. But despite being so thin, she looked remarkably well. She’d put on frosty pink lipstick, and was dressed in jeans and a pale pink sweater. She wore a white knit hat with a crazy trim of sparkly pink, red, and silver yarn.

“Hey, beautiful,” Mary said.

Beth laughed. “I’m trying.” She took the cup from Mary and sipped.

Mary sat on the sofa and began to unpack her knitting bag. “How are you?” she asked Beth.

“I’m good. In a couple of weeks I get another scan and I know the tumors are gone. I can feel it. This was a scary one, but I’m almost back one hundred percent.”

Women’s voices grew louder and Scarlet, Lulu, Harriet, and Alice all walked in with their coffee and knitting.

“So,” Alice said, “who knew this would turn into a celebration of sorts.”

“What are we celebrating?” Beth said.

The women all settled themselves, Scarlet placing the tray of pastries on the wide coffee table.

“Ellen’s girl, Bridget,” Alice said. “Even as we speak, she’s getting her new heart. They got the call at four o’clock this morning.”

“Thank God,” Beth said.

Mary swallowed hard. She thought of Stella in that hospital room, the doctor’s stethoscope pressed to her chest. Around her, the women were talking about organ donors, about Bridget’s bravery and Ellen’s dedication to her daughter.

“How simple,” Alice said gently. “A one-skein cardigan. We’ll be done in a few hours.”

The yarn was thick and lush, with variegated colors. Mary had chosen purple and green and blue for Holly’s baby, and even as she cast on, the colors revealed themselves vividly.

Other than the clacking of needles and Alice’s instructions from time to time, the room was quiet. For once, Beth knit slowly, her fingers swollen and sore from treatments.

“Who’s your sweater for?” Beth asked Lulu.

“My sister is pregnant again. Both of my sisters spit out babies like crazy.”

“How about you, Scarlet?” Beth said.

Scarlet kept knitting. Already the back of her sweater was on stitch holders, and she had marked the places for the sleeves with pins.

“Scarlet?” Beth said.

Scarlet carefully laid the front on her lap, its rich pinks and magentas bright against her black pants.

“I guess,” she said, “it’s kind of for me. I just got approval from China to adopt a baby girl,” Scarlet said, as if she couldn’t quite believe the news herself.

Mary watched as Lulu and Alice ran over to hug Scarlet. She watched Beth’s face break into a smile. Even Harriet gave a reluctant nod of approval. Slowly, Mary got up and joined Alice and Lulu by Scarlet’s side.

“You really did it,” Mary said.

Scarlet squeezed her hand.

It grew dark outside as they sat knitting their sweaters. Scarlet turned on lamps and made more café au lait. Each woman had a front and a back and two small sleeves and now knitted the right front band, making careful buttonholes. Except Beth. She had fallen asleep, and Scarlet had taken the sweater pieces from her and placed a quilt over her. She breathed heavily in her sleep, her face pale in the glow of lamplight.

“She’s remarkable, isn’t she?” Harriet said softly.

Alice patted Harriet’s knee. “Yes,” she said. “Of course she is, darling.”

Then they were silent again, interrupted only by the sound of Beth’s breathing. When the phone rang, Lulu jumped, startled, and dropped a few stitches.

Scarlet took her baby sweater with her as she went to answer the phone.

“It’s Ellen!” she said to everyone. “Bridget is doing great. The operation was successful.”

The women cheered and called hellos and good wishes to Ellen while Scarlet held out the phone so she could hear them. Mary let them believe that, like all of theirs, her tears were from happiness. How could she ever let anyone know how stingy her heart had become? She wanted Bridget well, and alive, and Ellen to have her daughter. But she wanted her Stella more.

“Of course,” Harriet said after Scarlet had hung up and they had all returned to their sweaters, sewing up the sides, adding the buttons—flowers on Lulu’s, fish on Mary’s, antique silver ones on Harriet’s, and small pink hearts on Scarlet’s—“of course, these things don’t always work out. Sometimes the body rejects the new heart. Sometimes—”

“Sometimes,” Alice said, holding up her finished tiny sweater,

“sometimes everything goes perfectly.”

DYLAN HAD MOVED out four months ago, and even though he still called her once a week—“Just checking in,” he’d say—her work had finally managed to keep her from thinking too much about him and their mess of a marriage. This was what he had been able to do after Stella died—work so hard that he could lead a life again. Mary understood that now. She wondered if he understood that she had not been able to help herself until now.

Sitting at her desk with her computer humming and her brain finally working, she thought about calling him. But she couldn’t. From her office, she watched Holly and Jessica whispering by Holly’s desk. Lately, she’d felt the two of them had grown fond of each other and her sense of betrayal had deepened. Even now, the way their foreheads bent close together, the secretive smiles on their faces, Jessica’s hand placed possessively on Holly’s arm, made Mary uncomfortable and a little jealous.

It was hard enough watching Holly’s stomach grow bigger seemingly every day. With the warmer weather, she had taken to wearing thin baby-doll dresses that showed off her pregnancy. She looked ridiculous, Mary decided as she watched them. Holly began to dig around in the big bag she toted everywhere, pulled something from it, and gave whatever it was to Jessica.

Holly had been Mary’s ally against Jessica, and suddenly here was Mary alone. On today of all days. She found herself wishing for Dylan, the way he knew the right things to do, his good self.

She gathered her things and headed out for lunch. A new restaurant had opened on Thayer Street, with the unlikely and inappropriate name Takie-Outie Sushi. Mary avoided Thayer Street if she could. It was full of chain stores and restaurants and too many students clogging the narrow street sipping oversized, overpriced Starbucks coffees. But she needed to get out of here and it was a far enough walk to get her some good exercise. She’d managed to lose almost ten pounds since January.

When Mary walked into the foyer, Holly and Jessica stopped talking, stepping away from each other guiltily.

“What’s up?” Mary asked before she could stop herself.

She saw Holly glance sideways at Jessica before she said, “Oh, you know.”

“I’m pregnant,” Jessica said.

Holly let out a little gasp. “Jess,” she said firmly.

“Twelve weeks. We thought it would take a while but we were wrong.”

Mary saw what Holly had handed Jessica: a bottle of prenatal vitamins from the natural-food store.

“Congratulations,” Mary said, hoping Jessica couldn’t tell how dry her throat had grown.

“Well, off to a new sushi place,” Mary managed. “Any takers?”

There was a moment of awkward silence before Jessica said,

“We can’t. No raw fish.”

“Right,” Mary said, walking away from them. Behind her, their voices once again rose in that excited and anticipatory way that pregnant women have with each other.