How to Knit a Love Song (20 page)

“I’ll contest the will. I’ll get the zoning changed.”

“Feel free to try. In the meantime, I’m moving forward.”

“You’d better move forward where I can’t see, then. Because I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Is that a threat?” Abigail’s voice was quiet but clear.

“I’m not saying anything I’m not willing to back up. You will not move forward with opening any store. Period. Tom, let’s go.”

His friend, still openmouthed and stunned, didn’t move.

Janet reached out her hand and placed it on Tom’s arm.

“Why doesn’t Tom stay here with us? I’m sure he’ll come in…useful. If he stays.”

“You’re nuts. He’s with me. Come on, Tom.”

“Well, someone should keep them company.” Tom’s voice trailed off. “I mean…what if…”

“Fine. I’m out of here.” There was no way he was going to stand for this. “There will be no store. And you should probably avoid me when you get home.”

She stood up. She winced a bit, and he knew she shouldn’t stand, but she did. She looked him right in the eye and said, “I’m not scared of you, Cade.”

There was something behind her eyes, some pulling back, a hardening.

He had caused that.

It was her fault.

He drove home so fast he was surprised the wheels stayed on the road.

Chapter Twenty-two

Now, the longest rows are for rejoicing! Knit on, sail through, you most amazing of all knitters!

—E.C
.

A
bigail was filthy. She could still smell the dirt from the hillside in her nose, and sometimes caught the scent of left-over “eau de horse” from her jeans. Janet had driven her home from the hospital and dropped her off with a kiss and a promise to come back soon. Tom had watched wistfully as Janet drove away. Then he’d asked Abigail if he could help her with anything, with getting dinner or making it up the stairs in her new walking-boot that she’d have to wear for a few days. Abigail had instead asked him to check the fence at the cottage with her.

They found Merino, her stupid boy alpaca, standing there. Right there, looking at her like she was late to bring him dinner. From the fluff left on the wire of the fence, she could tell that he’d walked back in as easily as he’d broken out. She almost cried, out of both relief and sheer annoyance, when she saw him standing there next to Tussah. She fed them, and got close enough to him to rub his side.

Abigail knew the fence had looked fine when she moved in the alpacas, but it now had a man-sized hole in it. Tom looked at it, too, and shook his head. “That’s been cut.”

Abigail didn’t know how both she and Cade could have missed the hole, but there it was. Just another thing to work on fixing. Tom showed her how to fill in the gaps with wire, then he looked at her exhausted face and did it for her.

Then Abigail hobbled back to the house.

When she entered it, she realized that when she’d told Cade that she wasn’t scared of him, she’d lied a little. He’d advised her to avoid him, and she planned on it. She’d be strong and stand up for her rights tomorrow. Tonight she’d hide in her room until she heard him go to bed, and then she’d have a bath.

Abigail napped lightly with Clara by her side and waited until she heard his bedroom door shut before she went into the bathroom. She wished she could take a shower downstairs, in relative safety, but while she was allowed to remove the walking-boot to bathe and sleep, her ankle was wrapped and she wasn’t supposed to unwrap it until she saw the doctor again in three days.

Abigail sat on the floor of the bathroom and waited for the tub to fill. She kept her eyes on the spigot at all times. It wouldn’t flood again on her watch.

The bathroom was right next to Cade’s room. She didn’t like being this close to him. She couldn’t even close the door all the way: it shut, but the latch-hook that should snap into the door frame wouldn’t latch, so a push would open it. There was no lock.

He wouldn’t bother her anyway, she reassured herself. He didn’t want to see her, either.

The tub was almost full. Abigail stood slowly, pulling herself up using the sides of the tub. She turned off the taps and took off her robe. Using a combination of gymnastic-like moves she’d never be able to duplicate, she managed to lower herself into the water, leaving her foot propped up on the side, out of the water.

She closed her eyes. This was good.

Abigail sighed deeply and slid further in, up to her neck.

Then she heard a creak.

Her eyes flew open. Wouldn’t Cade have heard her in here? Surely, he’d leave her alone. She cleared her throat in warning, just in case he hadn’t heard her in here.

The floor creaked again, right outside the bathroom door.

Then the door moved, just a touch. It swung as if a breeze had moved it.

“Hello?” said Abigail.

Nothing. The door stopped moving.

“Hey, I’m in here.”

There was still no response but silence. Abigail sat as straight as she could while still keeping her foot high and out of the water. It felt like a yoga pose. She’d never been good at yoga.

“Cade?”

The door moved again, a quarter of an inch. Was it a breeze? There was no creaking anymore. Had Cade snuck past the door and made it move just by passing it? But then it moved again. It was open now almost two inches. The door opened away from the tub, so she couldn’t see who was there.

Her heart went into overdrive. It would be bad enough if it was Cade, but what if it wasn’t? A weapon. Did she need one? The plunger would do, she thought, but she’d have to get there fast, and she had no idea how to get out of the tub.

She willed her voice to be steady and tough. “Do
not
open that door.”

As if encouraged, the door swung open just a bit farther.

Abigail held her breath.

A large yellow cat pushed his way in. Duncan.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Abigail sunk back into the water, panting. She’d never been so relieved to see an animal. Good grief, that had been a ridiculous way to react. To overreact, rather. This was home. This was safe. She had to start believing that. It was hard, though.

Damn it. She’d gone almost two days without thinking about Samuel, and now he was back in her mind. She didn’t want his memory warring with this place.

A year in a relationship. Wouldn’t that have been enough to know someone? Abigail would have thought so, before Samuel.

She’d met him at the ABA conference, standing in a line waiting for his coffee order to be made. He’d asked her what she was doing there, and she confessed she’d abandoned her booth in search of caffeine.

“I’m here for my sister, who wrote a book about an anthropomorphized squirrel. No line at your table either?” His voice was sympathetic, to match his eyes. He was just her type: tall, broad chest, dark hair. Abigail felt her back straightening, and she hoped she still had a little lipstick on. It had been a long, overwhelming day.

“No, there’s been a line, all right. I just escaped.”

“What do you write?”

“Knitting books.”

“Now I know you’re joking me. You’re too beautiful to be a grandmother.”

Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Good line. Have you used that one before?”

“Just been waiting for a chance. Is it working?” He inclined his head toward her, as if whatever she said was going to be the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.

“I didn’t think it would work, but now I’m not sure.” She surprised herself with her candor.

“May I have your phone number?”

Abigail took the coffee the barista held out to her. “I’ll think about it. Come see me at my table later. Craft-book area.”

She tried not to think about him, becoming more sure as the afternoon wore on that he wouldn’t find her. But just as her publicist gave her the high sign and started to shut down the signing queue, he showed up carrying a huge bouquet of pink roses. The women waiting watched appreciatively.

He held them out to her. “You really do have a line. One of the biggest I’ve seen.”

“You don’t know knitters, obviously.”

“Not until now.”

He watched her deal with the rest of the women, watched her smile and laugh and touch the knitted objects shown to her. She felt his eyes burning into her.

He had a quiet word with the publicist, left briefly, and then came back. He was the last in her line. He held out a copy of her newest book and said, “Now may I have your number?”

Abigail smiled.

“What’s your name?”

“Samuel.”

On the flyleaf Abigail wrote, “To Samuel. Not your grandmother’s hobby anymore.” She followed her signature with her phone number and handed it back to him.

He said, “I’ll call tomorrow.”

As he walked away, her publicist, Samantha, sighed. “Who’s that? Yum.”

“I have no idea.”

Samuel had called the next day, just as he’d promised. They went on their first date two nights later. A lawyer, he’d borrowed his firm’s pleasure yacht moored at the marina. He led the boat expertly out into the still, open waters and then anchored the boat so they could watch the lights of San Diego, the flicker of traffic dancing, airplanes coming in to land along the skyline. He fed her steak and lobster and plied her with wine. They danced under the night sky to gorgeous music she’d never heard before. He kissed her for the first time, a good, wonderful, sparkling kiss. Abigail wanted it to go on longer, to stand like that under the stars for hours with him, but Samuel lifted anchor, motored in, and docked.

“Tomorrow will be even better,” he told her.

Abigail laughed. “I wish. But I’m having dinner with friends tomorrow night. Monday night?”

Samuel frowned as he helped her disembark, holding out his hand for her to take. “Cancel.”

“No, I’ve been looking forward to seeing them. They’re from out of town. But Monday’s free.”

He held her hand with both of his. “Please, Abigail, I want to see you tomorrow. Please? Will you think about it?”

Abigail took her hand back with some difficulty. What was going on? She tried to keep her voice light. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Call me Monday morning,” she said. “We’ll talk then.”

The next day, when she left her apartment to go meet her friends, he was waiting for her, leaning against her truck.

“Wow.” Abigail had no idea what to say, or even to think.

Samuel smiled, his eyes disarming. “I thought you might still want to cancel on your friends. I have tickets to the game. Wanna join me?”

Abigail shook her head and reached her key out to unlock the truck. “How do you know where I live?”

“It’s supposed to be a great game.” His hand moved to prevent her from turning the key.

“You followed me last night?”

“And there’ll be fireworks afterwards. Best seats in the house. Cost an arm and a leg. You have to come with me.” His voice was light.

Abigail turned and faced him, her back against her truck’s door. She took a deep breath. “Listen up. That’s fucking creepy. I’ve never had anyone follow me before, and I
hate
it. What on earth would possibly possess me to go out with you tonight, or ever again, for that matter?”

Samuel sagged. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to do. Last night was the best night of my life. I can’t stop thinking about you. There’s no excuse for what I did. I just hoped…” His voice was small, and his eyes were pools of sadness.

Somehow, even knowing she probably shouldn’t, Abigail felt a stab of empathy for him. Was he really that into her? That it had made him follow her? Shouldn’t she be more freaked out? Why did it feel more flattering than frightening?

“If I leave now,” he said, “can I call you tomorrow? Plan something to make up for it?”

Abigail paused. Then she nodded. She’d give him another chance. He had been so endearing, standing there, running his hand through his thick hair, that worried look in his eyes.

That was about a year before the bad night. A year she wished she could have back in its entirety, a year wasted.

Now. Abigail told herself to come back to now.

Abigail closed her eyes and counted five seconds and breathed in. Then counted five seconds and breathed out.

She opened her eyes and fell back into place. The upstairs bathroom in Cade’s house. The tub was going lukewarm, so she used her good foot to push the hot tap up again.

Duncan, who had been prowling the corners of the bathroom, came out from behind the clawfoot tub and jumped up on the rim. He didn’t seem to mind the splashing water or the curved porcelain edge.

“Hello, there.” Abigail reached out a wet hand. Surely, he’d run if she tried to touch him.

But he didn’t. He even pushed his head forward, into her hand. He seemed to love the droplets on his head. His tail trailed into the water, and he didn’t seem to notice or mind. Abigail used her foot again to turn off the faucet.

“You’re a water lover, huh? Me, too.”

Duncan purred harder. Abigail laughed.

Then the floor outside the bathroom creaked again. She jumped and looked over her shoulder.

The door moved again, but more quickly this time. Her dog, Clara, shoved her way in.

“Clara, no!”

The peaceful room exploded. Clara caught sight of Duncan, perched on the tub, and let out a happy
woof
of greeting. Duncan blew up into an enormous fuzzball and twisted his head around, searching for a way out. Clara leaped at the cat, who jumped right into the water and onto Abigail’s stomach.

Abigail flailed, but she knew this wouldn’t go well.

Duncan looked desperately around the room and dug every claw into Abigail’s torso, then used that purchase to launch himself up and over the dog. Abigail screamed in pain as the soaked cat hurtled out of the room. Clara flattened herself to the ground in fear.

“Shit! Oh, damn!” Abigail found that in the commotion she’d forgotten about protecting her foot. It was in the water, the wrapping now completely soaked, and it hurt like hell. “Goddammit!”

Suddenly, there was a bigger commotion. Abigail heard Cade’s door bang open and his thundering footsteps. She didn’t have time to yell, to shout for him to stop.