As though the very idea bored her, she said, “I usually get my clothes from Goodwill.”

“Then it’ll be fun to have something new,” I countered. She shrugged again. “Can we see Grandma Hoffman today?”

I smiled, touched by the affection she felt for my mother. Their unlikely friendship was a gift for both of them. And for me. Casey had visited only that one time and I’d been hoping to arrange a second trip. “Sure,” I said. “We’ll do that.”

“Okay.” She ate her breakfast, disappeared for ten minutes, then returned dressed and ready to go.

“I still need to put on my makeup,” I told her. It takes me longer to reach the beautiful stage, although I didn’t point that out. “By the way, Margaret and her family will be over later this evening, so we’ll pick up dessert on the way home.”

“Are they coming for dinner?” Brad asked.

“No, Julia’s got a softball game but they’re stopping by for dessert afterward.”

“What kind of dessert?” Cody asked, coming into the kitchen to get Chase a dog biscuit.

“I ordered an ice cream cake.”

He grinned, nodding in approval. “Good idea, Mom.”

I thought so, too. I always felt a bit guilty buying a cake when it was so easy to bake one, but ice cream was the perfect summertime dessert. Casey sat in the living room waiting for me. She held a small paper bag and although I was curious, I didn’t ask what it contained. Nor did she tell me.

“Can we see Grandma Hoffman f irst?” she asked when I’d backed the car out of the garage and onto the street.

“That’s f ine.” The assisted living complex wasn’t far from the mall.

We parked, and Casey was out of the car before I could even unfasten my seat belt. I hurried to catch up with her. Casey’s eagerness was quite a contrast to Cody’s discomfort. He’d been to visit my mother any number of times, but he quickly grew bored. After ten or f ifteen minutes he was ready to leave. I hadn’t phoned ahead and hoped we wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I found Mom sitting in front of the television, watching the Food Channel as usual. She had a pen and pad in hand and seemed to be trying to write down the instructions. I hadn’t seen her do that in some time. Over the past few years, she’d f illed several spiral-bound notebooks with carefully detailed recipes, but she hadn’t done it recently. Often, when we spoke on the phone, it was about these wonderful cooks and the recipes they’d demonstrated on television. Mom had always enjoyed making family dinners, and it hurt me that this small joy had been taken away from her.

When Casey and I entered the apartment, Mom’s eyes brightened, then immediately dimmed. I realized she’d forgotten Casey’s name, although she obviously recognized her face.

“Casey and I thought we’d stop by for a quick visit,” I said, mentioning her name so Mom wouldn’t need to ask.

“Casey,” Mom repeated, stretching out her hand. Casey plopped down on the f loor, sitting cross-legged next to Mom’s chair. She took her hand. “I brought you a gift,” she said.

“Me?”

“Yes.” Casey bobbed her head. “We made them at day camp this summer and I want you to have it so you’ll remember me.”

Mom’s pleasure was undeniable as she reached for the bag.

“What could it be?” she asked pensively.

Casey knelt in front of her as she opened the plain brown sack. Inside was a photograph of Casey wearing a baseball cap, with her arm around Cody’s neck. They were smiling into the camera. The picture was set inside a plastic canvas frame into which Casey had woven blue and teal yarn.

To my utter amazement my mother blinked back tears. “How nice,” she whispered.

“It’s got a magnet on the back so you can stick it on your fridge,” Casey explained, turning it over so Mom could see. I don’t think she noticed how emotional my mother had become or, if she did, Casey chose to pretend otherwise. “Would you like me to put it on the fridge for you?”

Mom nodded. When Casey moved into the kitchen, Mom dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief she always tucked in her sweater pocket.

“That was a lovely thing to do,” I said, joining Casey in the kitchen. I put my arm around her shoulders but I could tell she didn’t want me touching her, so I quickly let go.

“You don’t mind that I gave it to Grandma Hoffman rather than you?” she asked a little anxiously.

I assured her I didn’t. “It’s a lovely photo and you can see how much it means to my mother.”

For the f irst time in what seemed like weeks Casey gave me a genuine smile. “I’m going to miss everyone… I think your mom’s so nice. And she’s funny. I never had a grandma before, and well…I wanted her to have something to remember me by.”

We didn’t stay much longer; it was getting close to Mom’s lunch and after that she’d nap for an hour or two. Once we got to the mall, our f irst stop was the Sears store, where I traditionally purchased Cody’s school clothes. I’d read their two-page advertisement that morning and noticed that all boys’ jeans were on sale.

“You should buy him this shirt, too,” Casey said, holding up an olive-green T-shirt with some monster character printed on the front.

Cody had been wearing mostly shirts in primary colors. He was long past the stage where he wanted to wear anything with Disney characters, but I wasn’t really familiar with any appropriate alternatives.

“He’d like that?” I asked.

“He’d love it,” Casey said conf idently.

“All right, then. Put it on the stack.”

Casey did and then glanced at another one.

“Do you see anything else he might like?”

She nodded. “Lots.”

“Are they on sale, too?”

Casey pointed at the sign. Fifty percent off. Together we chose three other shirts and one good pair of pants and a button-down shirt for church. She picked out a winter coat, although it wasn’t anything I would’ve selected.

Cody was growing like a well-watered plant and I suspected that by Christmas he’d need a size larger in jeans. Yet with so many sales and such reasonable prices, it was hard not to go overboard now. We paid for our purchases, and I suggested we go to the teen department to buy something for Casey.

Casey didn’t seem to like the idea. “Why?”

“You’re going to need new clothes for school, too,” I said.

“I’ll get my stuff later. Don’t worry about it.”

The attitude was back and I didn’t know why. “Casey, you don’t have to buy your clothes secondhand.”

Bored, she glanced away. “Whatever.”

“Let’s at least f ind you a pair of jeans, okay?”

Anyone looking at her disgruntled expression would think I was punishing her, and yet I knew she enjoyed shopping. While picking out clothes for Cody she’d been interested, even excited. She was good at it, too.

Despite her protests I managed to buy her one new pair of jeans. She rejected everything else. I didn’t understand it. As we ate at the food court I talked about how pleased my mother had been with her gift and gradually Casey’s mood started to improve. On the way back to the house we went to the local ice cream parlor, where I’d ordered the cake. By the time we returned home, the lawn had been mowed. Through my open window I breathed in the distinctive, pungent scent of fresh grass, which brought back immediate memories of childhood summers. When I’d parked, Casey carried in our purchases and I put the cake inside the garage freezer. Brad and Cody had gathered around the table as Casey proudly showed off our bargains. “Wow, this is cool,” Cody said, holding up the olive green T-shirt.

“Casey chose that for you,” I said, and we exchanged a smile.

“Take her shopping with you all the time, Mom.” Cody pulled off his old shirt and immediately slipped the new one over his head, muff ling his last few words.

Casey looked down at the f loor. “I won’t be here,” she said. Brad turned to me and then to Cody. We both nodded.

“Yes, you will,” Brad said softly.

Casey jerked her head up. “What do you mean?”

“We want you to live with us,” Cody blurted out. “Mom and Dad and I talked it over, and we want you to stay.”

Casey didn’t seem to believe him. “I can stay here as your foster kid?”

“No, Casey. We want you to be our daughter, part of our family,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. “Brad and I want to adopt you.”

“And I want you for my big sister,” Cody added, refusing to be left out. “I didn’t like you when you came here. I was supposed to be the oldest when they adopted ’nother kid.” He grinned.

“But, you know, it wouldn’t be so bad to have a big sister.”

Casey just stared at us.

“Would adopting you be all right?” I asked.

“You mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as though testing us to see if this was some cruel hoax. Brad and Cody nodded vigorously.

“This isn’t a trick, is it?” Her eyes implored me and then Brad before she swiveled around to look at Cody.

“No, Casey, we mean it,” I said. “We love you and want you to be with us.”

“Forever and ever,” Cody chimed in.

I saw tears form in Casey’s eyes. In all the weeks she’d been with us, I’d never seen her cry. Not once. She’d been terribly upset the day she’d heard from her brother but if she’d cried, she hadn’t let anyone see. Emotion came to her so tentatively that when I saw how affected she was, my own eyes f illed with tears. I gave her a watery smile.

“That’s why we got the ice cream cake,” Cody explained happily. “That’s why Aunt Margaret and Uncle Matt are coming over tonight with Hailey and Julia.”

Casey gulped back a sob and covered her mouth with both hands.

I reached for her, almost fearing she’d push me away as she so often had in the past. But Casey moved willingly into my arms and leaned her head against me, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“We love you, Casey,” I whispered through the tightness in my own throat.

“I…love you, too—all of you,” she choked out. I murmured quiet endearments as she clung to me and I to her.

“I hoped…I didn’t want to leave you and…” She gulped between sobs.

“This is your home now,” Brad told her, placing his arms around the two of us. Cody joined in, and I felt his small arm curl around my waist.

“We want to be your family,” Cody said sweetly, “okay?”

“Okay.” She hiccuped.

Family.

Casey might have come to us as an unexpected surprise, but she was in our hearts now and there she would stay.

Epilogue

There is no life without knitting; every pattern on my needles presents an exotic challenge. My love for knitting is similar to my mother-in-law’s infatuation with her soap operas. On her deathbed, she said to me, “I don’t mind dying, but could you put a TV in my coff in so I could see how my stories turn out?” That’s how I feel about knitting. Could I please have needles and lots of yarn in my coff in so I can see how my patterns turn out?

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