Stitches in Time (2 page)

A
n hour later I came out of the bedroom to find another note on the kitchen counter.
I'm holed up in my office working for a few hours. Help yourself to whatever you need. Haley has gone to the mall with the girl across the street
, Petra had written.

I looked around the kitchen and decided a glass of wine was in order. The saying that it has to be five o'clock somewhere had become my mantra over the past year. I found a bottle of chardonnay in the wine rack, uncorked it, poured myself a glass, and walked out to the pool area.

Another gorgeous day in paradise. No wonder so many people vacationed and retired to this state. I curled up on the lounge and gazed at the aqua water. It was then that I recalled I'd done the very same thing the day of the fire.

I took a sip of wine, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back. That morning had started like any other. Haley had left for school and once again I gave thanks for that. At least the fire hadn't happened during the night with both of us asleep and our lives possibly at risk. I had wandered around the house aimlessly, hating the long day that stretched ahead. No job. Nowhere to go. Nothing that required my attention. By eleven, I had poured myself a glass of wine, took the bottle with me, and sat staring at the pool, wondering how my life had unraveled so completely. I was having a difficult time adjusting to the death of my father and the breakup of my marriage. Each day seemed to blend into another with no prospect of change. Chloe and Haley had repeatedly tried to convince me to relocate to Ormond Beach, but I felt my energy had been sapped. Petra was convinced I was depressed, and she was probably right, because it seemed that drinking had become my only comfort.

I now recalled sitting there by the pool feeling sorry for myself as I consumed a few glasses of wine. I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, I woke to the shrill sound of a fire alarm and saw smoke billowing out of the downstairs windows. By the time the fire department arrived, there had been moderate damage to the family room and kitchen. If there was anything good about the fire, it was the fact that the cigarette that started it was my last.

“Ready for lunch?” I heard Petra say.

I shielded my eyes from the sun with my arm and looked up. “Sure.”

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

I smiled. Ever since we were kids, that had been our comfort lunch. No matter how bad things were at school or home or with our other friends, a grilled cheese and tomato soup was the solution.

Petra turned around and headed back inside. I finished my last sip of wine and followed her.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you,” I said.

“I know you are. But geez, Isabelle, maybe you should cut your mom some slack. She really is trying.”

“It's not that easy, Pet. You, of all people, should know that. You were there when she left. You know how tough it was for me.”

I watched as she slathered butter onto slices of sourdough bread, placed a slice of Monterey Jack in between, and put the sandwiches on the sizzling grill.

“I know it was hard for you, but just remember it wasn't all about
you
. You know yourself you used to complain about your parents not getting along. They didn't have major fights, but I still remember the tension in that house. They weren't happy together anymore, Isabelle. This happens. As you now know.”

“Right. But she left us for somebody else. Imagine how my poor father felt. God, they worked at the same university together. He must have been so embarrassed that his wife left him and he had to face their colleagues every day at work.”

“But that was their problem, as I've told you a million times. It shouldn't have affected your relationship with your mom. Iris is a kindhearted person. She really tried over the years. It was you who always rejected her. When was the last time you even saw her?”

It had been when I was pregnant with Haley. Fourteen years ago. She had flown back to Atlanta, stayed in a hotel for a few days, met with my dad over some financial matters, begged me to have dinner with her, and then returned to Oregon. I did have dinner with her, but it was strained and uncomfortable for me. And in the years since then, our relationship could be described as out of sight, out of mind.

When I remained silent, Petra said, “Yeah, when you were pregnant with Haley. Believe me, I remember. You have effectively pushed her out of your life. The only thing I can give you credit for is not taking Haley away from her, but even with that you could have tried harder and allowed them to see much more of each other over the years. She
is
Haley's grandmother, but you've made very little effort to let Iris be part of Haley's life.”

She was right and I knew it. When Haley turned twelve, I finally let her fly to Oregon for a week during summer vacation, and when Haley returned I pretty much ignored anything she had to relate about the visit.

“You just don't understand,” I said, wanting to drop the subject.

“I do understand and you know that. Okay, enough. Let's enjoy our lunch.”

I reached for the two bowls of soup and placed them on the table while Petra brought the sandwiches.

“Ice water with lemon?” she asked.

I had a feeling wine wasn't on the menu. “Sure.”

I took a bite of the sandwich and groaned. “Delicious. I swear that the problems of the world could be solved with these sandwiches.”

Petra laughed. “If only. Hey, I need to go to the yarn shop later to get some sock yarn. You'll come with me, right? I think Haley also wants to go.”

Over the past year, I had actually made more of an attempt to become a knitter. While I wasn't nearly as proficient as my daughter, I had to admit that I did enjoy the hobby, and could now brag that I'd actually completed a few scarves and was working on a cowl.

“Sure. That sounds like fun. A new yarn shop to explore. Knitting really is addictive.”

“I'm jealous, you know. You're so fortunate you'll be staying at Koi House with Dreamweavers right out back. Talk about a knitter's fantasy.”

I let out a chuckle and nodded. “Yeah, probably true. I haven't seen the completed shop since it opened last September, but Chloe says it's just beautiful and business is doing very well. I think more and more women are either learning to knit or returning to it after many years.”

“Well, no doubt about it. I'm a confirmed knitter. I always found it odd that when your mom offered to teach both of us as kids, you showed little interest. Your mom is still an expert knitter, you know.”

“I'm not surprised. She's always been a creative person. That's why she teaches art at the university.”

“Taught,” Petra said.

My head snapped up to stare at her. “What do you mean,
taught
?”

We were interrupted by Haley walking into the kitchen—with stripes of pink streaking her thick, gorgeous, honey-colored hair.

I jumped up from my chair. “What the hell did you do, Haley?”

I saw her smirk as she said, “Oh, Mom. Chill out. I went with Liz to the hair salon. She had blue put in her hair. It'll grow out.”

“What were you thinking? You've ruined your beautiful hair! How could you do such a stupid thing?”

She shrugged. “We didn't think it was stupid. Liz's mom was fine with it. She drove us there.”

I shook my head. “Well, I'm not fine with it. It looks . . . it looks . . .” I found I had no words to adequately describe what I thought it looked like.

“Cool?” was my daughter's reply.

“Oh, God, Haley. No, not cool.” I blew out a breath and wondered if I'd survive my daughter's teen years.

“Yes, well . . .” Petra said, standing up and clearing the table. “How about some lunch, sweetie?”

“I'm not—”

Before she could finish, I said, “You
will
eat lunch before we go to the yarn shop.”

As if not daring to assert any more of her independence, she said, “Do you have any yogurt and fruit?”

“I do,” Petra said. “In the fridge. Help yourself.”

The drive to the yarn shop was fairly quiet, with Petra making small attempts at conversation. We pulled up to a strip mall and I saw a sign that said “A Piece of Ewe.”

“Cute name for a yarn shop,” I said, getting out of the car and following Petra inside.

I'll never understand how walking into a yarn shop surrounded by shelves and tables of fiber can suddenly make stress and concerns slip away. But I think any knitter can attest to the fact that this is exactly what happens. So for the next hour the three of us touched and exclaimed over various yarn fibers and colors.

By the time we checked out, we each had a filled shopping bag. I had found some Bamboo Pop by Universal Yarns that had me drooling over the gorgeous colorways. Petra felt it was time for me to move on from scarves to make myself a short-sleeved top. She found a pattern with twisty cables and said she'd teach me that evening.

Haley got some Ultra Pima cotton in various shades of pink—no doubt to match her hair—and was going to make herself a pullover sweater.

And Petra found some funky colors in fingering weight sock yarn, claiming she never wore store-bought socks anymore, only her hand-knitted ones.

We returned home and I helped Petra prepare dinner. I wanted a glass of wine before we ate but I was hesitant to ask and felt guilty just helping myself.

Petra put lemon chicken into the oven while I prepared a salad.

“Okay,” she said. “All I have to do is the rice pilaf. How about a glass of wine by the pool?”

“Sounds good.”

We took the wine out to the patio table. Haley was already curled up in the family room casting on the stitches for her new sweater.

I took a sip of wine and then remembered our interrupted conversation earlier.

“Oh,” I said. “What did you mean about my mother and that she used to teach art?”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

I honestly wasn't sure. “Maybe November. A few months ago. Why?”

“Well . . . she's retired.”

“Retired? Since when?”

“Since last month. Early December.”

“She never said a word to me about that.”

Petra took a sip of wine. “Maybe she thought you wouldn't be interested.”

I ignored this comment. “Well, she's always been a bit of a hippie. Maybe now she can go retire on a commune.”

“Oh, she's not retiring to a commune.”

“So where is she planning to retire?”

“To Florida,” Petra informed me.

O
ut of all the states in this country, why did my mother have to choose the one I was moving to for her retirement?

I had attempted to pump Haley for information the night before, but I didn't get very far.

“So you knew she was moving here to Florida?” I had asked her.

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Maybe because I didn't think you'd be interested?”

She had a point. I had never hidden from my daughter the fact that my mother and I weren't close. Well, Florida was a fairly large state. “Where in Florida? Do you know?” I had asked.

“She still isn't sure, but she does want to go to Ormond Beach so she can visit with me for a little while.”

Haley continued to focus on her knitting and I dropped the subject, but when I woke this morning the annoyance I'd felt the evening before had returned.

Petra was working in her office and Haley had taken off with Liz—with strict instructions from me not to even
think
about coming back with a body piercing or tattoo.

I took my coffee and walked out to the patio area. This would be our final day in Jacksonville. I had decided we'd drive to Ormond Beach the following day.

I had just removed my knitting from the tote bag when my cell phone rang. I saw it was my mother again and thought it best to answer this time. It would probably be the only way I'd get any details.

“Yes, Mom. How are you?”

“I'm well, Isabelle. How are you doing?”

“Okay. Haley and I are heading to Ormond Beach tomorrow.”

“Oh, good. I know Haley is excited about moving there.”

“Right. And speaking of moving, I hear you're now retired and planning to move to Florida also.”

“Yes, and so far I love this retirement life. At sixty-eight I'm ready to move aside and make room for the younger teachers. And yes, I made the decision to live my retirement years in Florida. With the great weather and so many social activities, it seemed like the ideal location. It won't be a problem, will it?”

I answered her question with another question. “Where exactly in Florida are you planning to live?”

“Well, I'm not quite sure yet. I've been doing some research and the west coast looks good. Around Naples and that area; however, during the summer it's about ten degrees hotter there than other parts of Florida.”

I did a quick calculation in my head and was pretty sure Naples was about a four and a half hour drive from Ormond Beach. Probably far enough to prevent frequent visits.

“I know there are a lot of retirement communities there,” I told her.

“Yeah, but I'm also considering the east coast. I might be happier not living surrounded by only retirees. Having neighbors of various ages might be more to my liking. At any rate, I've made plans to fly to Orlando on March twenty-eighth; I'm renting a car at the airport and I've booked a hotel in Ormond Beach for a week. I really want to spend some quality time with Haley. I hope that's okay with you.”

I knew I'd been stingy over the years with the time I allowed my daughter to spend with her grandmother. And I also knew that Haley was now at an age at which she spoke up about this fact.

“Yeah. Fine,” I mumbled.

“Good. While I'm there, I plan to check out that area and see what's available for housing. I'd also like to find a part-time position. Something to do with the arts. Lord knows I've got plenty of experience. Well, I won't keep you, Isabelle. Have a good trip tomorrow and give my love to Haley and Petra.”

We hung up and I realized that she hadn't sent any love my way. Not surprising. I'd learned over the years not to expect warm and fuzzy exchanges with my mother. I might not be mother of the year, but I did know there was no way that I would suddenly decide to leave Haley, move across the country, and build a new life for myself. It just wasn't possible. Especially not just to be with a lover. Somebody my mother had put above me.

I picked up my knitting and began working on the top while I pushed thoughts of thirty years ago out of my head.

* * *

Petra emerged from her office around one and found me still sitting on the patio knitting.

“Well, look at you,” she said. “That top is working up very nicely. I love the color.”

I looked up and nodded. “I really do enjoy knitting.” I removed the earbuds from my ears. “And listening to music at the same time makes it especially relaxing.”

“That it does. But I'm starved. Ready for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” I said, getting up to follow her inside.

I helped Petra prepare a crabmeat salad plate and we settled down at the table.

I took a sip of iced tea. “My mother called,” I told her.

Petra looked at me with arched eyebrows. “Oh. And?”

“And she's flying down here late March. Already arranged for a rental car and booked a hotel in Ormond Beach for a week. So she can see Haley, that's what she said.”

“Makes sense to me. She has all the time in the world now. Where is she planning to actually live?”

“She's still not sure. Possibly the west coast, but it could also be the east coast.”

“Hmm.”

“What's that mean?” I took a bite of salad.

“It means you'd prefer she stay right where she is. Hey, be honest. You don't want her living in your area.”

“No. I really don't. There are plenty of places for her to go.”

“Maybe she doesn't want to be alone.”

I let out an exaggerated chuckle. “She should have thought about that thirty years ago. What ever happened to her lover? Obviously, he's gone and not in her life anymore. So now she's ready to coming crawling back to her long-lost daughter. Life doesn't work that way.”

Petra blew out a breath.

“What? You don't agree?” I said.

“Isabelle, I love you dearly. I've loved you like a sister since we were kids. But . . . you are
the
most stubborn person I know. People make mistakes. People have flaws. We all do. But holding on to so much anger and resentment doesn't make life easier. It makes you a bitter and unhappy person. Cut her some slack. She only wants to be a small part of your life. Just remember... she's not getting younger.”

I stabbed a piece of tomato. “Oh, so now you're making me feel guilty because she's getting older. Should I just forget that she
chose
to leave my father and me?”

“I hate fighting with you over this. I really do. I'm just saying maybe the time has come to take a deep breath, try to get along with her, and see where it all goes.”

I knew I was being difficult. But I also knew that the way I felt was a result of many years of hurt, and I wasn't sure our relationship could ever be fixed.