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  Her father had offered one bit of good advice. He’d suggested that Libby needed to network more.

  The problem was, Libby had been so intent on making partner that she hadn’t invested a lot in professional friendships. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any friends. She made an effort to keep in touch with a few people from college and law school. Her problem was, she didn’t know how to network. But she was willing to learn. At this point she was willing to do just about anything that might lead to a job.

  Well, there was no time like the present.

  “Hi,” Libby said, closing up her locker. “It’s Maddy, isn’t it?”

  Maddy turned to look at her, but her face was a blank.

  “I’m Libby,” she said, smiling. “Libby Morgan from Burkhart, Smith & Crandall.” No need announcing she was currently without employment.

  “Oh, hi.”

  It didn’t look like Maddy recognized her.

  Libby wasn’t sure what to say next. “You come here often?” Oh dear, that sounded like a pickup line. “I just signed up … this is my first week and I have to tell you, this is hard work.” She waved her hand under her armpit in a halfhearted attempt to be funny. Actually, she probably looked more pathetic than amusing.

  “I’m here three mornings a week,” Maddy said, and turned her attention to the friend on her other side. The two of them left the locker area and went into the gym.

  Embarrassed, Libby looked away. She picked up a hand towel on her way onto the main floor and sought out a machine. The stair-stepper was available and she figured she’d give it a try. Thirty minutes later Libby felt like she needed to be resuscitated. Her lungs burned and her calf muscles screamed in protest.

  Gina, the Miss Universe double who’d given her the tour of the gym, noticed, and while Libby sucked in shallow breaths, Gina made a number of suggestions about a physical fitness program, all of which sounded painful. From now on she’d stick with the treadmill.

  When Hershel had first suggested she get a life, Libby had been offended; her life was just fine, thank you very much! She enjoyed her job and lived in a nice condo. Really there wasn’t anything she wanted or needed beyond that—well, other than making partner.

  In the weeks and months since, she’d come to realize he’d been right. If she was going to be honest, most of her friends were more like acquaintances. She felt completely inept at making new ones. Without a job she felt like a fish out of water.

  Back at home, Libby reached for her phone and called Robin Hamlin, who was the closest of her school friends. The two had been study partners in law school. Robin worked as a prosecutor for the city of Seattle and was as driven and dedicated as Libby … or as Libby used to be. Ninety minutes later Robin returned the call.

  “What’s up?” Robin asked in her usual no-nonsense way.

  “Can you meet me for lunch?”

  “When?” Robin asked, sounding distracted.

  “Any day this week.” Or next, or the one after that, thought Libby.

  “Thursday’s open. Noon at The French Cafe on Blossom Street?”

  “Sure.” Libby didn’t know The French Cafe or Blossom Street, but it would take only a click of her mouse to locate the restaurant.

  “Good. See you then.”

  On Thursday, Libby had already claimed one of the few outside tables and ordered their lunches when Robin arrived ten minutes late.

  “Sorry, I got here as soon as I could.”

  “No problem.” Her friend looked good. Maybe a tad overweight, but Libby wasn’t one to throw stones, especially since she couldn’t button her pants. Robin wore a crisp navy blue business suit with a straight skirt. Her hair was shorter than Libby remembered it. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d gotten together. They’d talked on the phone a couple of times since Libby had started her job search, but their conversations were always short. Brusque. Libby wondered if that was the way she’d appeared to others in the past. Probably. She was always rushing to finish a brief or late to a meeting.

  “I ordered for us,” Libby said. She’d known Robin would be late and short on time.

  “What am I having for lunch?” Robin asked, laughing.

  “Half a turkey sandwich with split pea soup and iced tea.”

  “Perfect.” Robin pulled out the chair and sat across from Libby. The umbrella shaded them from the July sun.

  As soon as Robin was seated the server dropped off both lunch plates along with two tumblers filled with iced tea, and then left with the plastic order number Libby had placed on the table.

  “How’s the job search going?” Robin asked, as she reached for her half sandwich.

  Libby hesitated, unwilling to admit how desperate she was fast becoming. “It’s going.”

  “You found a job?”

  Libby shook her head.

  Robin paused with the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I wish I was.”

  Her friend shook her head. “I might be able to get you an interview with the city, working as a prosecutor.”

  Libby held up her hand. “I appreciate the thought, but no thanks.” She’d seen how Robin had changed since she’d taken a job with the city. Being exposed to the criminal element day after day had given her friend rough edges, making her outlook more pessimistic.

  “Remember how I told you Hershel Burkhart suggested I get a life?”

  “The SOB.”

  Libby smiled. She’d gone back and forth between anger and lingering affection for her old boss. She was fond of Hershel, despite the fact that he’d done her a grave disservice. Robin apparently didn’t share her opinion. “You know what?” Libby asked, forcing herself to own up to the truth. “I’m starting to realize Hershel was right.”

  “You have a life, Lib.”

  Libby shook her head. “I don’t, not anymore. And I’m so miserable I hardly know what to do with myself. Oh, I joined a gym.” That was one positive. “Actually, I felt like I had to do something and fast, after all the weight I’ve gained.” Thankfully Robin hadn’t seen fit to mention it. “I am so fat.”

  Robin nearly choked on her sandwich. “You are not fat.”

  “Am so. Look.” She bolted to her feet and exposed her unfastened waistband. “I’m up ten pounds. Nothing fits.”

  “You are not fat,” Robin insisted. “If anyone is out of shape, it’s me. I’ve gained fifteen pounds in the last six years and can’t seem to get rid of it.”

  Libby’s eyes widened and she waved her hands excitedly as she finished chewing a bite of her sandwich and swallowed. “Come to the gym with me. We’ll sweat off these excess pounds together.”

  Automatically, Robin shook her head. “Like I have time to work out.”

  “You need to make time.”

  Robin hesitated and then shook her head again. “If you saw my caseload, you’d understand.”

  “There will always be cases that need your attention. It’s time to take care of yourself. I walked to work every morning and thought I was in shape. All it took was a mile and a half on the treadmill to prove how wrong I was. Exercise is important for both your physical and your mental health. If you don’t take care of yourself no one else will.” Libby repeated the words of the sales pitch she’d gotten from Gina. It’d worked on her. Maybe it would with Robin, too.

  Her friend frowned and set her soupspoon down on the table as though giving the idea serious consideration.

  Libby was prepared to argue the benefits of exercise. She needed a gym buddy. Miss Universe had urged her to bring a friend, telling her it would help with motivation.

  “If you’d told me six months ago I’d be spouting off the advantages of an exercise routine I would have taken your temperature,” Libby added. “But working out will do us both good, and I’ve already lost three pounds.” Libby didn’t expect Robin to take her up on her offer, but she felt she had to try.

  Robin lowered her drink to the table. “You’ve lost
weight? Already?”

  Libby nodded. So she’d exaggerated a little, but she was down a couple of pounds. It wasn’t enough to make a difference in how her clothes fit, but every little bit helped. What she didn’t mention was that it felt like she’d chiseled off those miserable pounds one ounce at a time. They hadn’t come off easily.

  “How often do you go?” Robin asked, slowly taking another bite of her turkey sandwich.

  “Me? Right now, every day.” She had the time, so why not? It’d actually helped her mental outlook, and while she hadn’t made any friends, she saw a number of the same people every day. They nodded at one another as they traded off machines.

  “I can’t do every day.”

  “I’ll meet you on the days you do go,” Libby promised.

  “I’d have to be out of there by seven-thirty.”

  Libby would need to change her time. No problem. She still knew how to set her alarm. “Great.” She hadn’t expected it to be this easy to recruit Robin, but she knew it would do her friend good.

  Then, as if she suddenly remembered she had limited time, Robin glanced at her watch. “I’ve got an errand to run before I head back to court,” she said, pushing her plate aside. “My mom’s living in Florida now and she asked me to pick up a skein of yarn for her.”

  “There’s a yarn store close by?” Libby asked, looking around.

  Robin motioned her head across the street. A shop called A Good Yarn was directly opposite The French Cafe. When Libby was a young girl, her mother had taught her how to knit. She’d enjoyed it until her mom had died, and then there hadn’t been anyone to help her fix her mistakes or explain how to read the patterns. In all the years since, Libby hadn’t picked up her knitting needles.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Chapter 3

  A cat snoozed in the window of the yarn store, next to a wire mannequin wearing a knitted sleeveless top. A neatly lettered sign indicated that it was crafted in Morning Glory, a cotton-blend yarn. The ribbing was done in cable. Libby recognized the cable stitch from when she was a kid. The project she’d been knitting when her mother died had a cable in it. Libby had never completed the sweater, and she didn’t know what had happened to it. No doubt her father or stepmother had gotten rid of it long ago.

  A bell rang above the door when Robin entered the store. Libby felt drawn inside. Two steps into the shop and she paused as a warm sensation settled over her, a welcome. She could still remember the last time she’d been inside a yarn store. She’d been with her mother. Wool was displayed against the wall in bright white bins. Everything was organized by color, creating a fascinating mosaic. Just seeing the red, green, yellow, and blue tones and textures mesmerized her.

  Instantly, Libby was brought back to her early teen years, sitting with her mother, doing her best to learn as much from her as she could. Her mother had been so ill and so brave. In the last weeks of her life, her mom had spent every available minute with Libby, until her strength gave out.

  While Libby had refused to believe her mother wouldn’t survive, Molly had known the truth. She had done her best to impart a lifetime of wisdom to her only daughter. Libby had listened intently, remembering everything she could, even writing some things down so she wouldn’t forget. Her mother’s final instructions had become Libby’s mantra.

  Take charge of your life.

  Don’t be afraid to pursue your dreams.

  Work hard and don’t listen to anyone who says you can’t, because you can and you will.

  A deep sense of loss filled Libby. All these weeks of being unemployed had eaten at her self-esteem, chipped away at the very foundation of her belief in herself. She wanted to feel her mother’s reassuring arms around her, encouraging her, giving her fortitude to move ahead and not be disheartened.

  Libby glanced around the shop. A number of knitted samples were artfully displayed throughout. Toward the back of the room was a long table, presumably for classes. Two girls, probably around thirteen or fourteen, sat there and appeared to be deep in conversation. One seemed to be helping the other.

  Robin, with no time to spare, walked directly up to the counter. The woman who waited on her greeted her by name and inquired about Ruth, Robin’s mother. The two chatted briefly while Robin paid for her mother’s yarn. The purchase took less than three minutes and then Robin turned to leave.

  “I’ll join the gym on my way home from work and give you a call tonight,” Robin told Libby just before she reached the door. She glanced at her watch, grimaced, and was gone.

  Libby remained rooted to the spot.

  “Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked.

  Libby realized she was making something of a spectacle of herself. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to stand here like a flamingo in the middle of a pond. It’s just that I haven’t been inside a yarn store in years—not since I was a kid.”

  “You’re welcome to take a look around.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Libby said, feeling foolish and a bit self-conscious. She wandered over to one of the display cases next to the wall and picked up a fire-engine-red skein of yarn. Reading the label, she was surprised to discover the yarn was made from corn silk.

  “That just recently came into the store,” the clerk told her. “My name’s Lydia Goetz, by the way.”

  “Libby,” she said, “Libby Morgan.” She set the yarn back in the bin.

  “We have yarn made from soy, too. And there’s a new yarn made from milk.”

  “Do people still knit with wool?” With all this alternative fiber, Libby had to wonder. Maybe real wool had become passé.

  Lydia smiled. “Oh, yes. The vast majority of the yarn we carry is made from wool. There are lots of blends, though. The world of knitting has changed drastically in the last several years. You’d be amazed.”

  “I already am.”

  Lydia automatically straightened out a bin, restacking the skeins. “If you need any help just say the word.”

  Libby nodded and started toward the back of the store where the two teens sat.

  “Hi,” one of the girls said. “I’m Casey and that’s my mom. She owns the shop.”

  “Hi, Casey.” Libby smiled at the girl. She realized Casey wasn’t knitting but crocheting.

  Casey appeared to notice Libby’s interest. “I’m much better with a crochet hook than I am with knitting needles. This is my friend Ava; I’m teaching her to crochet.”

  Ava glanced up briefly, but didn’t make eye contact.

  “What are you making?” Libby asked the two.

  Casey was friendly enough but Ava appeared shy and preoccupied.

  “We’re working on preemie caps. Mom and the other knitters and crocheters make caps for the babies in the hospital. Seattle General. It’s right up the street.”

  Libby knew it well. “It looks like you’re doing a great job.”

  “Not me,” Ava said, her head lowered. “Mine looks like crap.”

  Libby knew exactly how she felt. Her own first attempts had been pretty bad. “I learned to knit when I was your age and my first pieces looked horrible. You know what my mother said? She told me I had to knit all the ugly ones before I learned how to make them pretty.” Several times Libby had wanted to quit and throw her scarf away, but her mother’s simple words had helped her stick to it. She’d been right, too. By the time she’d finished her third or fourth project, Libby had noticed a difference in her stitches and the tension. When she’d first started knitting the stitches were so tight she could barely get the yarn to move on the needles. Gradually she’d relaxed. By then she’d knit a scarf, a dishcloth, another scarf, and had started on a vest. The vest hadn’t turned out half bad and she’d worn it with pride.

  “My mother died last year,” Ava whispered. She looked up then with eyes that were rimmed with sadness.

  Libby’s throat thickened. She wanted to tell the girl she’d lost her mother at the same age, but she rarely spoke of her mother. And yet the words tumbled fr
om her lips. “I’m sorry; I know what it’s like to lose your mother,” she whispered. “Mine died when I was about your age, too.”

  “Ava hangs with me,” Casey said, covering the awkward silence that followed. “Otherwise Ava’s stuck with her older brother and he can be a real …”

  “Casey,” Lydia called out to the girl. “Why don’t you show Libby the hat tree?”

  “Okay, it’s over here.” Casey set her work down on the tabletop and led Libby to the opposite side of the store. What looked to be a tall coatrack with a number of short, stubby hooks was nearly completely covered in impossibly small knit and crocheted caps. “These are all for the preemies,” the teenager explained.

  Libby removed one of the hats and examined it.

  “Would you like to knit one?” Casey asked.

  The question took Libby by surprise. “I … I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I last knitted.”

  “It won’t take you long to relearn.”

  Libby was amused by the girl’s enthusiasm.

  “You should do it,” Casey said and then returned to her friend.

  “Maybe I will.”

  Libby made her way up to the front of the store, where the owner was busy helping another customer. She walked over to the display window and gently pet the cat, who purred and then stretched his front legs out in front of him, yawning. Giving the shop one last look, Libby reached the door and stepped outside. It was warm and getting warmer.

  Then, thinking Robin might back out of joining the gym, she grabbed her phone to send her friend a text. Only she’d need to be subtle. Grinning, Libby typed out FAT and pushed the “send” button.

  Not a minute later Robin returned her text with FAT. FAT. FAT.

  Libby laughed and sent her fingers flying. FATTER.

  Seconds later Robin returned with FATTEST.

  It wasn’t until Libby looked up that she noticed the flower shop next door to the yarn store. It was called Susannah’s Garden. Buckets of freshly cut flowers lined the sidewalk. On impulse Libby bought a mixed bouquet of white and yellow daisies and laughed for no reason other than that the silly exchange with Robin had greatly lifted her mood. She carried the daisies back to her condo and to her dismay realized she didn’t own a vase.