Till Death Do Us Purl (4 page)

“—so I’m wondering if we could just add a few inches here, we might skip this other layer entirely,” Maggie suggested, making a light sketch on the photo of Rebecca’s gown. “That will save a lot of time and it will still drape smoothly. It might even look better.”

“That’s a great idea. I didn’t even think of it.” Rebecca looked over the dressmaker’s form again and nodded. “I was about to start that section tonight.”

“Good, let’s figure out the adjustments.” Maggie found a pencil and paper, then set to work with her gauge tool and calculations.

“I honestly didn’t expect you all to help out like this.” Nora sounded so grateful, she almost looked teary-eyed. “I hope you didn’t feel pressured. I’d feel so bad about that. I have the rest of the yarn at home, so please don’t go out and buy anything.”

“Oh, we rarely resort to that.” Dana glanced over her shoulder at Maggie. “There are a lot of perks to hanging around here. Believe me.”

Lucy couldn’t deny it. Membership in their knitting circle definitely had its privileges.

Nora laughed. “I’ll bet. But I absolutely forbid Maggie to supply the yarn, too. I’ll drop everything off here tomorrow and you can each take what you need.
I guess that’s the best way to handle it.”

It was a good plan, they all agreed. The knitting group was usually in and out of the shop all week long, bringing Maggie their knitting messes or just dropping in for a break from real life. Lucy worked at home, running a graphic design business. She needed to get out of the house at least once a day, and have a real conversation—with someone other than her dog—just to save her sanity.

Once Rebecca and Maggie were finished restyling the gown and dividing up the work, Nora and Rebecca packed up and said their good-byes.

“I just want to thank you all again,” Rebecca said as she packed up her knitting tote. “I can’t tell you how much better I feel about my wedding now.”

“Aw . . .” Suzanne practically gushed. “We’re happy to help you, Rebecca. You’re going to be such a beautiful bride. A real knockout.”

“You’ll have to send us plenty of pictures, for Maggie’s bulletin board,” Dana added. “We’ll definitely want to show off our contributions.”

“Never mind the bulletin board, I’d like to borrow the gown and put it in my window.” Maggie seemed to be inspired on the spot, having one of her visions. “I can make a gorgeous wedding display. I’ve been looking for something special to perk up business this spring.”

“Pictures . . . window displays. For goodness’ sake, you’re all invited to the wedding,” Nora replied quickly. “After bailing us out this way, it’s the least we can do. You must come . . . Please?”

Nora’s tone was firm. She didn’t want to hear any
dissent. Lucy didn’t think the mild-mannered mother of the bride had it in her.

Maggie answered for all of them. “That’s very gracious of you, Nora. I think we’d all love to see Rebecca walk down the aisle. Perhaps we could come just for the ceremony?”

The rest of the group quickly agreed. Lucy felt relieved. She wanted to see the ceremony, but felt awkward about sitting through an entire wedding reception for a couple she hardly knew. It was hard enough sometimes when you were family, she reflected with a wry smile.

The others all agreed that the compromise would work well for them, and the Baileys seemed satisfied.

“We’ll be checking in soon with a progress report,” Nora said to Maggie. “It will still be a push, but I will say I might get a good night’s sleep for the first time in weeks.”

“Don’t worry. I promise the wedding will be wonderful,” Maggie said. “The gown will be finished in time and everything will work out fine.”

Lucy didn’t know how Maggie could be sure about all of this. But at times, her friend had a tone of such authority. When Maggie said something, it always sounded so convincing.

The front door of the shop had barely closed behind Nora and Rebecca when Suzanne gave out another dramatic sigh.

“Don’t you just love weddings? No wonder all those reality shows about bridal gowns and wedding planners are so popular.”

“You don’t really watch that stuff, do you?” Phoebe stared at her, bug-eyed. “Those shows are so lame.
Bride of Frankenstein,
is that the one you like?”

“
Bridezillas,
” Suzanne corrected
her. “Actually, my favorite is
Dream Dress,
if you must know. The perfect mindless entertainment when I need to unwind after a hard day not selling any real estate.” She picked up the start of her shrug again and made a face at Phoebe.

“Rebecca is no bridezilla, that’s for sure. If they had a show called . . .
Cool, Calm, and Collected Bride,
she’d be a shoo-in.” Lucy counted the stitches in her last row, careful not to mess up the shrug pattern. She found the start of a project was the easiest time to make mistakes. “I watch
Dream Dress
once in a while, too, Suzanne,” Lucy added, offering some support. “We all have our guilty TV pleasures.”

“Oh, I don’t have any of those.” Maggie laughed. “Well, maybe one or two. But I’m surprised to hear you admit to that one, Lucy. Any special reason you’re brushing up on bridal fashions? Is there some news you’d like to share?”

Lucy felt her face get a little warm and focused on her knitting. She blushed so easily, she hated it.

With all this wedding talk, she knew her friends would get around to her relationship sooner or later. “Just some junk food for the brain, that’s all.”

“Don’t play dumb with us,” Suzanne said. “I was wondering the same thing.”

Lucy smiled nervously, but didn’t know what to say.

“Look, she’s smiling, but she won’t answer,” Suzanne said to the others.

“That’s because I don’t have anything to say . . . I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she insisted.

“Of course you know,” Suzanne insisted.
“How long have you and Matt been dating now? At least a year.”

That calculation was correct. But why did Suzanne make it sound like a very long time and from Lucy’s perspective, it wasn’t long at all?

“That’s right.
Only
a year, I’d say,” Lucy corrected her.

“Is everything all right? I thought things were going well,” Maggie said with concern.

“Everything is fine. We get along perfectly. But we’re definitely not talking about marriage. For goodness’ sake, we’re not even living together,” she reminded them.

“That’s debatable,” Dana added. “I mean, you spend most nights of the week together now. You have keys to each other’s houses. And a space in each other’s closets. His dog even sleeps over and has his own set of bowls on your kitchen floor. Practically speaking, you might as well be sharing the same address,” she concluded. “You’re both just a bit in denial about it.”

Dana had a clear, unemotional way of pointing out the elephant in the room. Lucy couldn’t argue with her assessment.

“Yes, that’s all true. But we’ve both been married before and Matt has barely caught his breath from his divorce. And there’s Dara to consider,” she added, mentioning Matt’s eight-year-old daughter. “It’s very different for us than it is for Rebecca. We’re comfortable moving a little slower.”

“If you moved any slower you guys would be going backwards,” Suzanne noted, flipping her rows of rose-colored knitting to the opposite side.

“So you don’t want to get married again, is that it?” Phoebe asked.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I can see how great
it could be, with the right person. But I’m not in any rush. And neither is Matt. And that’s just fine with me. Honestly.”

Lucy felt her friends looking at her while she stared down at her knitting. No one commented for a moment and she took a breath, thinking they had finally let it drop and would get on to some new subject.

“You don’t hear your biological clock ticking?” Suzanne said suddenly.

Lucy hated that expression. All she could picture was the sneering crocodile from
Peter Pan,
which had swallowed an alarm clock and continually hovered just below the surface of the water, waiting to get another taste of Captain Hook.

Tick-tock. The biological croc, she called him.

But she didn’t dare try to explain her ticking croc, even to her good friends.

“Suzanne, please. Let’s just leave Lucy’s poor ovaries out of this,” Maggie said, rescuing Lucy just in time. “It’s a whole different ball game the second time, especially when there are children involved. I know what she means.”

Maggie had lost her husband, Bill, several years ago. She’d left her job as a high school art teacher soon after and opened the knitting shop. A decision she believed had rescued her from a deep well of grief. But so far, her new life did not include a satisfying, long-term relationship. Though she did date from time to time.

Lucy wondered if that was because she hadn’t met the right person yet and wasn’t the type to settle for a mediocre romance. Or because Maggie feared risking her heart again. Or maybe she was just content to be on
her own. If Maggie felt a lack, she never mentioned it.

“I’m fine with talking about weddings,” Lucy insisted. “And I’m not worrying about getting married again, or having babies . . . or any agendas about me and Matt. Right now, we’re just happily rolling along.”

Her friends looked at her and then at one another. She felt as if they weren’t buying her story but were willing to let the matter drop. For now at least.

“If you say so, Lucy,” Maggie finally said. “Just don’t give us two weeks’ notice if you decide to knit your own wedding gown. That’s all we ask.”

Lucy had to laugh. “Fair enough.”

When Lucy got home she found Matt waiting for her, stretched out on the couch in the TV room, watching a basketball game. The Boston Celtics, of course.

Matt sipped a beer and had obviously shared a bowl of popcorn with the dogs; a trail of crumbs on the rug led directly to her golden retriever mix, Tink, and Matt’s chocolate Lab, Walley. The two were now sleeping peacefully at Matt’s feet, curled up back to back, like a pair of very large, fuzzy slippers.

Taking in the domestic scene, she couldn’t help but recall the well-intentioned comments of her friends. But the happy equilibrium she and Matt shared didn’t need discussing or dissection, Lucy reasoned. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it . . . And don’t break it, either,” had always been her motto.

Lucy carefully stepped over the dogs and dropped down onto the cushion beside Matt. He leaned
toward her and gave her a long, deep kiss.

“How was the meeting? Any wild demonstration? Maybe Maggie spun a clipping from Bigfoot?”

He was teasing, of course. Though Maggie often showed them fiber findings from exotic creatures such as alpaca or angora rabbits, with fur as soft as clouds.

“It was even more thrilling than that,” Lucy reported.

“Really? Tell all.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder and Lucy leaned against him in a cuddling, comfortable pose.

“Maggie volunteered us to help a customer in distress. A bride-to-be, Rebecca Bailey.”

Lucy quickly related Rebecca’s crisis, then described the sweater she was going to knit for the bridesmaid.

“The pattern is easy. I just hope I can finish it in time. Maggie has the real challenge. Knitting a wedding gown is pretty intense.”

Matt laughed. “That’s a nice way to put it. I think it’s sort of crazy. I’d worry if you ever started that project.”

“No way. I’d skip the knitting shop and go straight to a bridal salon.” She glanced at him, then back at the basketball game. “Not that I’m thinking about wedding gowns, or anything like that. I mean, if you’re getting married a second time, most brides don’t even wear a big fancy gown . . .”

She stopped herself. She was only making this worse. Now Matt was going to think that she had been daydreaming about weddings and gowns and all those combustible topics she was trying to avoid.

When she really was not thinking about any of this. Not until her friends had put the bug . . . or perhaps
just a rose petal . . . in her ear.

He was suddenly so quiet. She felt his body tense up against her. Had all this wedding talk caused a problem already?

She snuck a glance to gauge his reaction. Then realized his eyes were glued to the action on the TV screen and he probably hadn’t heard a single word of her rambling.

Matt sat up even straighter and held his breath as the Celtics’ point guard brought the ball down the court and the players on both teams shifted and dodged.

He pulled his arm off her shoulder and yelled at the set, “Pass it to Pierce! He’s wide open! Are you blind?”

The ball was passed, a shot taken, it bounced off the rim of the basket, and the guys in the red uniforms—not our team, Lucy knew that much—managed to snatch it.

Then a whistle blew—Lucy had no idea why—and Matt collapsed with a long, frustrated sigh.

“We’re never going to make the play-offs. KG strained his groin muscle. He’s out for two weeks . . .”

How did male athletes always seem to strain their groin muscles? Was that some macho thing? She didn’t even know where her groin muscle was. She nodded, trying to commiserate.

“I’m sorry, honey . . . You were saying something?” Matt turned to her.

“Nothing important.” She smiled and patted his knee. “I’m really beat. I’m going up to take a shower. When is this over?”

“One more quarter . . . I’ll just set the DVR,” he said quickly. He smiled as she picked up the empty bowl. “I’ll clean this stuff up. Don’t worry.”

Music to her ears. That was one of the many things
she appreciated about him, one trait that made it so easy to be not quite cohabitating. He never left a trail of beer bottles, shoes, socks, newspapers, half-opened mail, and dirty dishes in his wake. Well, rarely.

As Lucy climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she knew she’d dodged a bullet. She had to be careful not to let all this wedding talk rub off on her real life, like dog hair on a black sweater.

No matter what her friends thought. She didn’t think she and Matt were ready for “the talk.” Not even the living-together talk.

Sometimes, the less said the better. Most of the time, she thought.