The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (13 page)

Hannah hardly dared breathe. She’d never anticipated something like this. Where did she begin? For a moment she could
have sworn she felt someone watching her. She looked over her shoulder, but no one was there. Slowly, she reached out her hand toward a skein of yarn in the bin in front of her. It was as soft to the touch as her only stuffed animal, the one she’d carefully hidden from her mother when she’d gone on that time-for-you-to-grow-up rampage. She’d stashed her ragged teddy bear in the back of the bottom dresser drawer. Since her mom never did laundry, she’d be unlikely to go rooting around in Hannah’s meager collection of summer tops and shorts. This yarn, though, felt just like that teddy bear that had comforted her through long, bleak nights when she’d waited for her mother to come home or for Gentry to leave. The yarn was the same color as the bear, too, a warm honey brown. Her mother’s hair had been that color once a long time ago, when Hannah was really little. Now her mother’s hair was a brassy blond that came from using cheap home-dyeing kits too often.

How much yarn would it take to make the shawl for that librarian’s knitting club? She’d have to ask Courtney’s mom she realized with dismay. She slid the skein of yarn out of its cubicle and twisted it in her hands, looking for a price tag. When she saw it, she almost dropped the yarn. Fifteen dollars? For one thing of yarn?

“Did you find something you like?”

Hannah whirled around. Thankfully it was the saleslady, not Courtney’s mom.

“No. I mean yes. But—”

“What were you thinking of knitting?” The saleslady looked nice enough. She was tall with black-and-white hair, about the age of those sisters in the knitting group.

“A shawl. I’m supposed to make a shawl,” was all Hannah could say.

“That would be lovely.” The saleslady nodded at the yarn in Hannah’s hand.

“How many of these would it take?” Hannah asked, gesturing with the skein.

“Let me check.” The saleslady picked up another hank and turned the paper wrapper around the yarn’s middle this way and that. “Hmm. I guess it depends if you want something small—more like a wrap—or one that’s larger, more for wintertime.”

“For the small one—how much?”

“At least four skeins. Maybe five, especially if you want to put fringe on it.”

“Oh.” Hannah wasn’t great at math, but even she could guess at those numbers. Upwards of sixty bucks. More likely seventy-five, plus tax. Her wallet contained exactly twenty-two dollars, most of which she’d earned by picking up aluminum cans along the highway. It took a lot of aluminum cans to equal twenty-two dollars.

“Did you find something?” Mrs. McGavin appeared at her side out of nowhere. She reached out to touch the yarn in Hannah’s hand. “That’s really pretty.”

“It’s okay.” Hannah shrugged dismissively and crammed
the skein back in the bin. She scowled. She had to or else the tears would start flowing. Why had Courtney’s mom brought her here in the first place? She had to know that Hannah could never afford this kind of stuff. Sure, she’d offered to pay, but she should know that Hannah couldn’t accept a gift like that. Hannah knew all about expensive gifts—she’d seen her mother take enough of them. Gifts like that had strings attached. Especially if you got them from men, but even when they came from a woman like Mrs. McGavin. “It’s a stupid color anyway.” This store had to have some cheaper yarn somewhere.

“Well, we’ll just keep looking.” Mrs. McGavin smiled at her kindly. Hannah hated that kind of smile, one step removed from pity. People who smiled at her like that did so because she made them feel better about themselves. Poor, neglected Hannah Simmons. Throw her a few crumbs, and expect her to be grateful. She thought about that book she’d been reading, the one about the princess. If she’d been the scullery maid Becky, she would have led a revolt. At the very least tipped a coal scuttle over that witch of a headmistress.

“Whatever,” Hannah said, desperate to escape from the older women. As she moved away, she could tell that the two of them exchanged a look. Honest to God, Hannah was tired of those looks.

Fifteen minutes and dozens of yarns later, she found something she could afford. The sale bins were tucked into a corner in the back of the shop behind a partition. When she
saw the fifty-percent off sign, she fell on them like … well … like a school-lunch kid on his breakfast tray. Ha. She should know about that. Some days it was a long time between lunch and breakfast the next morning. Summers, of course, were the worst, when there was no school lunch or breakfast or anything. She had to fend for herself in the summers. That’s what the twenty-two dollars was for. Because her mother was as likely to forget to buy groceries with her Friday check as she was to remember.

The sale bin, though, was a find. The thick wool was clearly a color no one had wanted, a rather putrid green. But it was only five dollars a skein, and they were much larger than the other ones. She could buy three skeins and still have a little bit left after tax. Hannah scooped up the yarn and headed for the cash register.

“You did find something.” There was Mrs. McGavin again. She was like the cops or something, practically spying on her. “You can just add it to my basket if you want.”

Hannah looked at the large shopping basket hanging from Mrs. McGavin’s arm. Expensive yarns filled the inside and spilled out over the top. She forced herself to keep her mouth closed so her jaw wouldn’t drop in shock. She must have hundreds of dollars worth of yarn in there. Enough to feed Hannah and her mom for months.

“I got it.” Hannah turned away and laid her yarn on the high counter. The saleslady stood behind it now.

“Are you sure you don’t want an extra hank, just in case?”
the saleslady asked. Hannah wanted to reach over that counter and slap her. Did they think she was an idiot? She just looked at the lady without blinking, and the woman got the message. Another minute or two, and her ordeal was over. She clutched the little handles of the clear plastic bag emblazoned with the store’s logo as she headed for the door.

“I’ll be right out,” Mrs. McGavin called after her. Hannah just kept heading for the door, blinking back tears and biting the inside of her cheek to force back the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. She never should have come.

And it was the last time she’d do anything that stupid librarian told her she had to do. Let her call the cops. Fine. She’d go to juvy. Getting slapped around by other girls her age had to be better than this kind of torture. At least against those girls, she could fight back. But Mrs. McGavin and those other ladies? They would take her out with their kindness and move on. Hannah was smart enough to know that other people’s charity was about as dependable as Gentry Carmichael.

“My mom’s new best friend is the biggest freak in the seventh grade.” Courtney rolled her eyes as she delivered the verbal blow. Honestly, it was a wonder that the child had any control of her eyeballs the way she was constantly rolling them around in her head. Merry kept chopping the iceberg lettuce with grim determination.

“Hannah’s not a freak. She’s just … different.” Even as she said the words, she knew how lame they sounded. Different was the kiss of death at thirteen. Merry wasn’t so old that she had forgotten that, even if she didn’t have Courtney around every day to remind her of the basic principle.

She’d arrived home late afternoon after dropping Hannah off in front of the saddest looking trailer Merry had ever seen. It was a wonder the redwood deck in the front hadn’t collapsed and killed someone. There’d been a black Ford pickup
parked in the yard, and Merry couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought Hannah grimaced when she saw it. The day had been such a disaster that Merry didn’t even ask the girl about the truck. Hannah hadn’t said two words since they left Haus of Yarn, just sat sullenly in the passenger seat as Merry made a few more stops. Clearly Hannah had no further interest, or money, to make it worth the bother of stopping at the other yarn stores in Nashville. Merry had managed to get the girl to blurt out a begrudging order when they’d gone through the drive-through at McDonald’s, but that had been the extent of their communication.

As Hannah hopped out of the van, Merry had offered to help her start her shawl project. The girl shrugged, paused, and then took off running for her sorry excuse for a house. Merry couldn’t stop the tears that stung her eyes as the girl gingerly climbed the steps to the front door and disappeared inside. What must it be like to go home to that every day?

And Merry didn’t like the look of that pickup truck. Sure, it was black, which made it automatically menacing. The back window boasted a gun rack and a couple of heavy-metal band stickers. Even at that, it was no different from dozens of other trucks in Sweetgum. Still, it had bothered Merry.

It continued to bother her at home as, having finished the lettuce, she started in on the tomatoes. She’d elected to make tacos for dinner, thinking it would be the simplest thing.

She’d forgotten how much chopping was involved.

“Mom, I know you think you have to do this kind of Christian duty stuff, but could you please do it somewhere that my friends won’t see you?” Courtney said.

“As far as I’m aware, not a single friend of yours was at the yarn shop in Nashville today.”

“Mom …” A familiar whine.

“That’s enough, Court.” She pointed toward the stack of plates on the counter. “Set the table.”

Merry tuned out her daughter’s mutterings and focused on the tomatoes. She heard Jeff’s SUV in the driveway, heralding his return from the soccer field with Jake and half of the boy population of Sweetgum. Their laughter and shrieking as they exited Jeff’s car carried through the side door that led in from the garage. A moment later, the door opened and the entire herd stormed into the kitchen like stampeding wildebeests.

“Mom, we won. We won!” Jake raced for the refrigerator, swung it open, and started passing out Gatorade like a seasoned bartender.

“That’s great, honey.” She would have liked to reach over and kiss his cheek or ruffle his hair, but she couldn’t—not in front of his “posse.” He’d lectured her sternly about it the last time she’d tried.

“We’re gonna go jump on the trampoline,” he informed her as he slammed the refrigerator door shut.

“Take off your cleats first!” she called at their departing
backs, wondering how soon she’d have to replace the battered trampoline.

“How do you stand it?” Jeff sank into a chair at the table in the breakfast nook, shaking his head. He took off his baseball cap and wiped sweat from his forehead. “It’s like
Lord of the Flies
on steroids.”

“Only on a good day,” Merry teased. “Usually it’s straight out of
The Exorcist
.”

Jeff stood up again and opened the refrigerator to swipe his own Gatorade from its depths. “I’m beat. I’m going to shower and sleep in the hammock for a while.”

Merry tapped down the flare of irritation that ignited at his words. When she had Saturday soccer duty, she never got to come home and relax. No, she moved straight into dinner preparation or laundry or any of the thousand tasks that never seemed to get done. How did women who worked full-time manage to keep body and soul together? She put a hand to her back and kneaded the sorest spot. Pregnancy made a woman’s joints and tendons loose so her body could accommodate childbirth, but all that stretching came at a price.

“I could use some help for a few minutes after you shower,” she said.

Jeff scowled. “All I’m asking for is a half-hour nap.”
Thwack
. She slammed the knife through the tomato so hard that it lodged in the wooden chopping block. “Half-hour nap, my Aunt Fanny,” she hissed, careful to keep her
voice down. Courtney was still in the dining room setting the table. “All I’m asking for is ten minutes of your time. By the time you shower and sleep, I’ll have dinner finished and on the table.”

Jeff’s face darkened until it reminded her of that pickup truck parked in front of Hannah’s trailer. “I do actually work during the week,” he said in a low voice. “Not run around with my girlfriends having lunch at Tallulah’s and dash up to Nashville to spend our kids’ college funds on yarn.”

How could this tired argument have become the cornerstone of their marriage? They were supposed to be the golden couple, heir apparent to Esther and Frank—well, maybe not
the
golden couple, but at the very least they were supposed to be special in some way. Boredom, loneliness, bickering—those weren’t meant to be the hallmarks of their marriage, much less the pillars of their home.

“Jeff, I’m tired of feeling so alone.”

The screen door banged as Jake and three of his buddies streaked back into the house in a blaze of mud and soccer cleats. Merry whirled toward her son. “Jake McGavin! Freeze right there!” But her shout didn’t even slow their steps. The boys disappeared upstairs in a thunder of rushing feet pounding against the new hardwood.

Merry turned back to face her husband, who was looking at her as if she’d just announced she intended to join a cult.

“How could you possibly feel alone in this chaos?” he
demanded. “The only thing that could make our lives worse would be if we had more kids.”