The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (33 page)

She was glad the darkness hid the heat that blazed across her
cheeks. “No big deal.” She didn’t trust her voice enough to say anything more.

“I need to tell you—” He paused. “Look, I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that? “When will you be back?”

Silence. A long, painful moment of silence.

“You’re not coming back.” She said the words for him, without inflection. Without a hint of the pain they caused.

“I don’t think so, no.”

Suddenly, she was angry. “Then why did you do that? Why do you keep showing up here? Why take me out to dinner?”

“Because I felt sor—” He stopped himself, but not soon enough.

He felt sorry for her. Of course he did. Sad, prematurely middle-aged Maria Munden, who lapped up affection like a neglected puppy.

“Good-bye, James.” It was all she could manage around the huge lump in her throat.

“Maria—”

He reached for her, but in the darkness his hand only brushed the sleeve of her coat. She turned, fumbled in her pocket for the key, and jammed it into the lock.
Hurry.
That was all she could think.
Hurry.

“Maria—”

She didn’t look back—just opened the door, stumbled inside, and slammed it behind her.

“Maria!” His voice, louder now, barked with impatience. “Let me finish!”

She didn’t wait to hear any more. She scrambled up the steps, then paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath and wipe the tears from her face. Two deep breaths, then another. She straightened her spine and reached for the doorknob.

Don’t think about it
, she ordered herself.
Don’t think about him.

By the time she swung open the door and stepped inside the living room, she had her expression under firm control.

If only she could have said the same about her heart.

At twenty minutes after eight on a cold February morning, Merry sat in the driver’s seat of her minivan in the church parking lot. Shed been sitting there for half an hour, actually, but had yet to bring herself to get out of the car, much less take Hunter from his car seat in the back and carry him inside.

Other mothers and a few dads dropping off their children gave her curious looks. Some of them, when they realized who she was, made sympathetic faces. No one, however, came over to talk to her. No one, that is, until Eugenie pulled into the lot and saw her sitting there with her hands frozen to the steering wheel.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she asked when Merry rolled down the window.

The winter air, cold and damp, made Merry’s eyes sting. “Awhile.”

“Are you coming in today?” Eugenie asked in a neutral tone.

“Probably not.”

Eugenie looked up, as if seeking divine guidance, then looked back at Merry with a pleasant but determined expression on her face.

“Hunter didn’t get Kawasaki disease because you put him in day care.”

Merry nodded. “I know that.”

“Children have been coming to Mother’s Day Out here for two generations.”

“I know you’re right.”

“You know it, but you
don’t feel
it.” Eugenie’s voice remained calm and even.

Merry could only nod in agreement. Somewhere along the way, probably about the time the doctor at the children’s hospital looked at her with pity in his eyes, Merry had lost her ability to think rationally. Long days in the hospital spent soothing Hunter, trying to keep him from pulling out the IV pumping lifesaving medicine into him. Long nights alone, pacing his room because of what might happen if she fell asleep. Paul Carson had visited frequently, making the hour-and-a-half drive far more often than Merry ever would have expected.

“It’s nothing,” Paul had said, waving away her objections.

After her first visit, Camille came on Mondays, when Maxine’s Dress Shop was closed, to give Merry a respite. Eugenie and Esther had both offered to come, but Merry declined their help. She didn’t want to be away from Hunter. No need for them to drive all the way to Nashville just to sit with her.

The person she really would have liked to have by her side
was Ruthie, Esther’s sister. Ruthie had been a frequent babysitter at the McGavin house, especially for any overnight trips Merry and Jeff took. But Ruthie was practically on the other side of the earth.

Eugenie reached for the handle on the minivan door. The click when she opened it jerked Merry back to the present.

“Come on, Merry. You need to get to work. Hunter will be fine. The pediatrician cleared him to go back to the baby room. There’s no reason to sit here.”

No reason?
No reason?
Merry wanted to scream. Eugenie had not been the one sitting all those nights with nothing to do but knit and read.
Wuthering Heights
had been the perfect choice. She could lose herself in the melodrama of the Henshaws and the Lintons and, for a few moments, forget how close she’d come to losing her baby.

“I can’t,” she said to Eugenie and pulled the door closed. “I can’t.”

Merry didn’t look at the other woman. She didn’t want to see the pity in her eyes. She knew how pathetic she must seem. Her child was okay, but the fear that had seized her when she answered the phone that day at Jeff’s office—that was the kind of fear that never went away.

Elemental. That was the word for it.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Eugenie said, smiling. “I need to get inside for my committee meeting.” She paused. “You know, I can give you the name of a good therap—”

“No, thank you.” Merry looked at her and grimaced a smile of thanks in return. “I’d better go.”

She raised the window, started the van, and looked behind her to make sure Eugenie was out of sight before she backed out of the parking space.

Jeff didn’t understand. He’d be furious, but Merry didn’t care. She signaled a right-hand turn out of the parking lot and headed for home.

That same Monday morning, Camille and Esther met at Maxine’s Dress Shop.

For the past several months, they’d been meeting this way—secretly, unbeknownst to the other members of the Knit Lit Society, in the back room of the small store. The only exceptions had been the Mondays when Camille went to stay with Merry and Hunter at the hospital in Nashville. Otherwise, they’d been regular as clockwork, although no one could have guessed the real purpose of their clandestine meetings.

“There. That’s it. You’re getting it,” Camille said as she leaned over Esther’s shoulder. Esther bit her tongue in concentration as she held the knitting needles, trying to keep the tension on her yarn, and attempted to execute a purl stitch.

“It’s still lumpy,” Esther protested.

Camille stifled a smile. “Keep going. It will get better.”

“If you say so.” She forged ahead, in a manner of speaking,
working to establish a smooth rhythm of poking the needle up through the stitch, wrapping the yarn around it, and then pulling it back through.

“You could have been doing this all along,” Camille said, but she wasn’t criticizing.

“I wasn’t ready to admit I needed help.” She stopped and rescued a stitch she was about to drop. “Not until Frank died.”

“The others never have to know,” Camille said.

She was surprised that Esther had managed to conceal her inability to knit for so long. During the meetings, she usually held her work in her lap so no one would notice. Then, after the meeting, she would hand the project over to Camille, who completed it for her. She and Esther had agreed on a fair rate, which worked to both their advantages. Now, though, Esther no longer had the money to pay someone to do her knitting for her, and Camille was relieved. She would much rather teach Esther to knit than help her continue the subterfuge.

“I want to buy the dress shop,” Esther blurted.

Camille’s head shot up from her own knitting, and she looked at Esther in astonishment. “What?”

Esther set her knitting on the table. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. It solves both our problems. You’ll be free to leave Sweetgum, and I’ll be able to earn a living.”

“I couldn’t let you take the risk,” Camille said, although she felt suddenly lightheaded. “Retail in Sweetgum will always be a struggle.”

“It may not.” Esther paused. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

Camille nodded, unsure what else to do.

“A new development is going in at the lake. Sweetgum should see a huge increase in tourists, summer people. I might even open a small branch of Maxine’s at the marina, maybe just accessories and boating wear.”

“But I thought you were broke,” Camille said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll borrow the money against the eventual sale of my house.” Esther’s voice thickened. “It’s time to let go of the past. I’m sure we can agree on a fair price, and I’d pay you for your time while you showed me the ropes. You could go ahead and enroll at MTSU. Finally have your dream of going to college.”

“Esther—”

“You’ve changed your mind. About leaving Sweetgum.”

Camille nodded, unable to speak. Bitterness welled in her throat. Didn’t her life always go like this? No matter how many Sundays she sat on a pew at the Sweetgum Christian Church, she’d never understand God. Or His sick sense of humor.

Be careful what you pray for.
Her mother’s favorite adage echoed in her head.

“I’m sure you and Dante could find a way to make it work.”

“It’s too far to commute,” Camille said, misery seeping from each word. “And I can’t see Dante waiting four years for me to finish.”

Esther frowned. “No. I guess not.”

Camille looked up at the older woman. “It’s too late for me.”

Esther shook her head. “No, Camille. You’re only twenty-four. You have an entire life ahead of you.”

Camille twisted a skein of yarn in her hands. “I know I can be happy here with Dante. It’s foolish to hang on to old dreams. They were never going to come true in the first place. I should have learned that lesson a long time ago.”

Camille hated to see the disappointment on Esther’s face, but if she stayed in Sweetgum to be with Dante, there was no need to sell. The store would provide a small additional income to supplement Dante’s coaching salary.

“So you’re not interested in selling?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, that’s that then.” Esther picked up her knitting and slid it into her bag. “I understand, of course. But if you change your mind…”

“I don’t think I will.” She paused. “Esther, I know we’re not the best of friends, but I’d hate for this to come between us.”

Esther leaned over and, to Camille’s amazement, patted her hand. “I’m sure it will all turn out for the best. There’s no need for anyone else in the Knit Lit Society to know about this. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about the marina.”

Camille smiled her thanks. “I don’t think you’re going to need any more knitting lessons. I think you’ve got it down pat.”

“Finally.” Esther looked softer, more vulnerable than Camille had ever seen her, even after Frank Jackson’s death.

“So.” Esther stood, brushing at the creases in her skirt. “I’d better be going.”

It was too bad, really, that Esther Jackson wasn’t the type of person you could hug, because Camille would have liked to at that moment.