Twenty-Seven
With my work as a designer, I feel like I am leaving a legacy to pass on to future generations. I can’t imagine either of my children growing up without a relationship with knitting. I cannot wait until my kids are old enough to learn to knit, and we can sit and knit together. What other line of work allows you to create like this, alongside your family?
—Chrissy Gardiner, knit designer and teacher,
Lydia Goetz
I couldn’t help worrying about Casey. Ever since she’d received that phone call from Lee she’d been withdrawn and, frankly, difficult. Some days were definitely better than others, but this morning was apparently destined to be a bad one. When I called Casey for breakfast, I heard her slamming things around her bedroom and when she finally deigned to show up, she didn’t so much as offer a greeting or even an acknowledgment.
Now, sitting at the kitchen table, she slouched over her cereal bowl almost as if she was afraid someone would jerk it away.
I tried talking to her and her responses, such as they were, came in the form of grunts and growls. My efforts were mostly ignored.
“Would you like to come to the yarn store with me?” I asked. Her classes were over, so her other option was day camp. “I’m going in early, even though I have class tonight.” I don’t know why I bothered to explain.
Her answer was a noncommittal shrug.
“Is that a yes or a no?” I asked, my patience growing thin.
She glared up at me. “I guess.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was willing to assume she wanted to go to work with me. “There’s a new shipment of yarn that needs to be priced.” One thing I could count on was Casey’s interest in collecting a paycheck. Other than those mishaps early on, she’d done a fairly good job at every task I’d given her.
“Will Margaret be there?” she asked.
It was the first real sentence Casey had uttered all morning.
“Yes. And Brad will stop by after work to take you home.”
She shrugged again, which appeared to be her universal response this morning.
It took me a moment to realize why she’d asked about Margaret. “You can bring your crocheting if you want,” I said, wanting her to know I’d paid attention.
She lifted one shoulder halfheartedly.
As far as breakfast-table conversation went, that was it. Unaware of the tension between Casey and me, Cody chattered away at astounding speed. I could hardly keep up with the rapid switching of subjects, but fortunately all he required was an occasional “Wow” or “Really?”
The three of us left the house and I dropped Cody off at the day camp. There was a field trip for his age group today—to the aquarium—and that was his very favorite activity.
Casey remained silent as I continued on to the store. I worked hard at remembering what Alix had told me about the years she herself had spent in foster care. She’d had varied experiences, some good, some bad. She’d said that Casey was probably afraid to let anyone know what she enjoyed, as though she wasn’t allowed to have any fun. At this point it was difficult to say that Casey took much pleasure in anything—with the one exception of our day at Green Lake.
When I pulled up at the church, Cody leaped out of the car and ran toward his friends without a backward glance. He used to kiss my cheek, but that had changed this summer. He no longer considered it “cool” to show me affection in front of his friends. I missed his goodbye hugs, but I understood. Cody was growing up.
I must have smiled because Casey gave me an odd look. “What’s so funny?”
“Cody,” I said, and explained why.
For just an instant I thought Casey might’ve been amused. I’d been waiting for her to lower her guard. For the past two days I’d been tiptoeing around the issue of her discontent and now I decided to confront it.
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” I asked as gently as I could.
She turned to me as if to gauge the sincerity of my question.
“I’d thought—hoped, really—that you’ve enjoyed your time with our family.”
The shrug was back, and Casey kept her gaze directly ahead of her. “It’s okay.”
“Okay!” I echoed in mock outrage.
Casey actually grinned. “If you must know, staying with you has been better than most summers.”
Admitting that was quite a concession on her part. “That’s more like it,” I said.
Casey’s mood seemed to improve once we got to the yarn store. I wanted to tell her that being there had the same effect on me. I could be angry or depressed or just plain tired. Yet the moment I entered my store, whatever was pressing on my heart instantly lifted.
The only other place I felt that same serenity was inside a church. But a yarn store? For reasons I can’t even begin to explain, my shop on Blossom Street produced in me a contentment I’d rarely found since that first diagnosis of cancer back when I was a teenager.
As soon as I got there, so did three customers. It almost seemed as if they’d been waiting for me to turn over the Open sign, because a moment later, all three women walked in.
Margaret served the first woman and was busy with the other two when another customer came in with a knitting problem. I immediately saw what she’d done wrong and we sat together at the back table while I explained her mistake, which was relatively easy to fix. Using a crochet hook, I had to go down about fifteen rows. I’m always surprised by the number of knitters who can’t bear to see someone unravel their work. This woman closed her eyes while I dropped the stitch.
After Casey had priced the new yarn and arranged it in the correct cubicles, she sat with Whiskers on her lap and stroked the cat for an hour straight. I was astonished that she could sit still for that long. Whiskers spent hours every day asleep in the front window, so this much attention was unusual. He purred with contentment; Casey’s lap had obviously become one of his favorite places.
I grabbed lunch when I could between customers, bringing back a take-out container of salad for Casey.
“I’m going for a walk,” Casey announced around two and headed out the door. She’d timed her declaration perfectly, waiting until I was busy figuring out yardage for a sweater project for Mary Kilborn, an experienced knitter. Because I was poring over a computer program that listed the brand name and skein yardage for every company, I barely had a chance to react to her statement.
“Brad will be here at—” I didn’t get to finish as Casey was already gone and well out of earshot.
“Never mind,” I said. Brad wouldn’t appear for another two hours and Casey would surely be back by then.
As was so often the case with her, I was wrong. Brad showed up before Casey did.
“Where do you think she might be?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I... I don’t know. I never expected her to be gone this long.” I started to rub my palms together, a nervous habit I’d developed over the summer—or more accurately, since Casey’s arrival.
I could tell that Brad’s day hadn’t gone well, because it wasn’t like him to be short-tempered. “Well, where did she say she was going?” he asked impatiently.
“That’s just it. She didn’t.”
Brad frowned, even harder this time. “Do you suppose she’s run away again?”
The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “No, why would she?”
“Why does she do anything?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air. “That kid’s impossible to understand.” He grinned, then added, “You’d think she was a teenager or something.”
The “or something” was right. Casey wouldn’t actually be a teenager until the following year, but she showed all the signs of being one now—especially the moodiness.
“She’ll be back,” Margaret assured us. She finished counting out change for a customer who’d come in to purchase an extra skein when she’d run out of yarn on a project.
“How can you be so sure?” Brad asked when the woman had gone.
“Two things.” Margaret walked around the counter. “First, Casey didn’t collect her pay for this morning and secondly—” Margaret pointed at the crocheting Casey had left on the lesson table “—she didn’t take her work with her.”
I nodded; my sister was right. “You might as well relax until she turns up,” I advised my husband.
Brad muttered a comment under his breath, then accepted the inevitability of waiting. Sighing heavily, he sat down at the table.
Five minutes later, Casey strolled in as though she’d hardly been away at all.
Instantly Brad was on his feet. “Where were you?” he demanded.
“Out,” Casey blurted, glaring at him defiantly.
In an effort to avoid an argument, I rested my hand on Brad’s. “Everything’s fine now. She’s back and she’s safe.”
Casey pretended not to hear me as she walked over to the table and grabbed her crocheting, stuffing it inside the quilted bag I’d lent her. Then she straightened. “Are you ready?” she asked as if Brad had kept her waiting.
Brad glanced at me, eyebrows raised. I shook my head as the two of them left, giving each other the silent treatment.
Margaret watched them walk away and turned to me. “I bet you’ll be glad when she’s out of the house.”
I didn’t know exactly what I’d feel. What surprised me, though, was the sense of loss that came over me at that statement. Despite the difficulties we’d had with Casey, I’d become genuinely fond of the girl. I would miss her, and so would Brad and Cody.
In fact, Casey’s stay with us had been good for our son. He’d learned the concept of sharing. Cody was the sole focus of our love and attention. Of course we hoped to add another child to our family, but as it was now, our lives revolved around his. He’d been a friend to Casey, and in the process had learned communication skills. Despite the moodiness she sometimes displayed, she seemed to like him.
“I’m going to miss her.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until my sister made a huffing sound. “What does that mean?” I asked, challenging Margaret to state her opinion.
She sent me that familiar disapproving look and simply shook her head.
That evening Alix was the first to arrive for class. As she walked into the store, I could smell cigarette smoke on her.
As if she could guess what I was thinking, she announced to both Margaret and me, “Okay, I’m smoking again. I went four days without a cigarette but I’m back to three a day, so don’t give me any grief.”
Obviously Alix and Casey were both in unsociable moods that day. “Three is better than ten or twenty or whatever you started out with.” I wanted her to be aware that I wouldn’t judge her.
“There is medical help, you know,” Margaret said. “And if you weren’t so stubborn you’d get it.”
“No.” Alix briefly shut her eyes. “I can do this. If I’m a little short-tempered it’s because I just smoked my last cigarette for the day and I’m already craving another.”
It was more than needing a cigarette. Alix was so rarely cross that I knew something else was troubling her. And my guess was that it had to do with Jordan. He wasn’t with her, although he usually walked her to class and then either went over to the church or met with a men’s group while Alix knitted.
“Jordan isn’t with you tonight?” I ventured.
“No,” she snapped.
I held up both hands as if to say sorry I asked—and I was.
Margaret, however, had never steered clear of a fight. “What is it with everyone today?” she said, arms akimbo. “First Casey and now you.”
Alix’s shoulders relaxed. “I didn’t mean to be cranky. Jordan and I had a small argument.”
“I’m sorry.” I could sympathize. Whenever Brad and I were irritated with each other, I felt dreadful. I’m sure I wasn’t much fun at times like that, either.
“It happens,” Margaret said. “Get over it.”
To my astonishment, Alix grinned. “Yeah, I guess I should. It’s my own fault. We were supposed to meet at the café at five and I was late. He didn’t feel he should hold on to a table, so he left.”
“And when you did arrive, there wasn’t one available,” Margaret finished for her.
“Exactly.” She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want to upset him and I’m usually on time, but there were extenuating circumstances.”
I’d never known Alix to be intentionally late. In fact, she was generally the first to show up, as she had tonight. She needed structure, and since I knew what her life had been like as a child, I understood why.
“Casey wanted to talk. It wasn’t like I could put her off, and then I had to rush to finish up the menu plans for my boss. Winter’s going on vacation and asked me to take over for her.”
“Casey?” Alix had spent time with Casey? That afternoon? Suddenly it all made sense. I should’ve realized Casey would seek out Alix, but until that moment it hadn’t occurred to me.
Alix nodded and looked from Margaret to me. “You mean you didn’t know she was with me?”
“No,” Margaret said flatly. “We didn’t have a clue where she was, and she was gone for hours.”
“I’m glad she could talk to you,” I said, although it was difficult not to feel a twinge of jealousy. I so badly wanted Casey to feel safe enough, comfortable enough, to turn to me.
Instead she’d gone to Alix. Her reasons were completely logical—and, of course, I’d done the same thing. I’d gone to Alix, too, asking questions about her experience as a ward of the state so I could understand Casey’s.
Alix seemed a bit confused. “She said you were the one who sent her to me.”
I’d mentioned it, only that had been weeks ago. Naturally I was curious as to what Casey had said, especially since they’d talked for such a long time, but I didn’t ask. I hoped Alix would volunteer the information; when she didn’t, I left it at that.
“Is everything settled between you and Jordan?” I asked instead.
“Not really,” Alix said, looking dejected. “He was pretty upset with me. He said I should’ve called his cell, and he was right. Hopefully we’ll grab some dinner after class.” Then a smile twitched at the edges of her mouth, and the tension eased from her face. “I’ll find a way to make it up to him later.”
Margaret hooted with laughter. “I just bet you will,” she said, winking at Alix.