Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer. RaeAnne Thayne
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Her children knew her well. Handmade beadwork was definitely the way to her heart.
“Did you have a nice day yesterday?”
She thought of the brunch her mother had fixed, which had tasted slightly better than the crow Claire had decided to eat to ease the tension between them from their argument Friday night.
“Nice. My mom made her fantastic crepes. What about you?”
Evie smiled, though Claire thought it was slightly bittersweet and she wondered again at the past Evie never discussed. “Great. I picked up the dog I was talking about. He’s gorgeous.”
“Where is he?” she exclaimed. “Up in your apartment? You have to bring him down. I want to see! He and Chester can bond!”
“He was sleeping in his crate when I left and I didn’t want to wake him. I’ll go up in an hour or so and bring him down, see how he does in the store. I thought if you don’t mind, I’ll let him play out in the yard.”
“Of course!” One of the things Claire loved best about her store—in pleasant weather, at any rate—was the garden in the back. The fenced space was only twenty feet by twenty feet, but it had a colorful flower garden and a set of lawn furniture she’d found at a yard sale the summer before. On sunny days, the children liked to do their homework out there or play with Chester.
“This is the bolo tie clasp I was thinking about making for the next class at the art center. What do you think?”
Claire admired the cleverly constructed piece. “I think that is a fantastic idea. Maybe we can get some of the husbands involved, the ones who always sit out in their cars and listen to talk radio while their wives bead.”
Evie’s smile was mischievous. “That’s the plan. Get them hooked by making a project for themselves and then they won’t mind when their wives come to the classes in the future.”
“You’re an evil genius in the making.”
“Anything I can do to keep the classes going,” Evie said. “It’s my favorite part of the week.”
Claire completely understood. She had started the senior citizen classes shortly after she took over at the request of some of her regular customers who were looking for an excuse to gather socially while they pursued their favorite hobby. She had found the women hilarious—smart, pithy, immensely creative—and had been delighted with the response. From überwealthy older women with vast vacation homes in the area to humble year-rounders like Mrs. Redmond next door, the ongoing class had been enormously successful and Claire had loved the interaction with Hope’s Crossing’s more seasoned citizens.
After a few months, many of those who came to the Bead Babes meetings started talking about how their arthritis symptoms seemed less severe while they were beading, with increased dexterity and less pain.
With that in mind—and not without a great deal of regret—Claire decided to turn the Bead Babes group over to Evie when she came to town from Southern California a year ago. Her credentials as a physical therapist made it a logical choice.
“What about next month?” Claire asked.
Evie looked suddenly secretive. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“You can’t quit,” Claire said instantly. “I don’t care. I won’t let you. I know there’s no such thing as indentured servitude anymore, but I’ll figure out a way to make it legal again.”
Evie laughed. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere. Well, not taking a new job anyway. You know I love it here. But I’ve been kicking around the idea of going out on the summer craft show circuit. So many of our customers who bead have had their lives tangled up in the poor economy. I was thinking I could take their work out on consignment across Colorado. Charge a nominal fee to them, mainly to cover the booth costs. It’s sort of a win-win for String Fever because the beaders will buy their supplies from us, plus we can advertise at the craft fairs at the same time.”
“Evie, that’s brilliant!” Her mind raced with possible beaders who might be in need of a little extra income. Unfortunately, with the high taxes and cost of living in Hope’s Crossing, that list was longer than it should have been.
“I love this idea. Which shows were you thinking?”
“Well, because you asked,” she smiled. “I made a list.” With her usual efficiency, she pulled out a folder next to the cash register and extracted a piece of paper. “This was just a listing of all the fairs within a two-hundred-mile radius.”
“Wow! So many. I had no idea.”
“Yes, I was thinking I would start with…”
Whatever she intended to say was cut off by the melodic chimes on the door, heralding a new arrival. Chester looked up with interest, then dropped his head again when he spied Ruth.
“Hi, Mom,” Claire said.
“Oh, thank the good Lord. You’re here.”
Her heart gave a sharp kick at the urgent note in her mother’s voice and her cast nearly slid off the ottoman as she straightened in the easy chair.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Is it the kids? Did the school call you?”
Ruth’s brow furrowed. “The school? No. Why on earth would they call me?”
She ordered her breathing to slow, her shoulders to relax, the visions of mortally ill children to clear. “I don’t know. You just sounded so frantic when you came in. I assumed something was wrong with the kids.”
“Of course I was frantic. I’ve been worried sick about you! I went to your house and you weren’t there and I called your cell phone and you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you’d had to go to the hospital or something. I’m so glad I decided to check here first.”
“I’m sure if Claire had to go to the hospital, you would be the first one she called,” Evie said in her quiet, calm voice.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Ruth muttered.
Claire wasn’t so certain, either, but she decided this might not be the best time to mention that.
“I must have turned off the ringer on my phone. I’m sorry.” She pulled it out of her purse on the floor beside her and saw she had, indeed, missed six—count ’em six—calls from her mother.
“I never dreamed you were back at work. What are you doing here anyway?” Her mother went on. “You’re not at all ready to come back to work!”
Claire swallowed her sigh. “Mom, it’s been three weeks since the accident. Dr. Murray cleared me last week and even Jeff said there’s no reason I can’t return to work, as long as I take it easy.”
“Which, for you, is easier said than done. You nearly died. I would say that warrants more than a few days away from work.”
Three weeks did not a few days make—and while the accident had certainly been scary and she wasn’t at all eager to repeat the experience, her mother’s assessment was a bit of a stretch.
“I’m feeling much better now. I was more than ready to come back.”
“You’re going to be sorry. You watch. You’re going to overdo and then you’ll pay the price. You always think you can handle more than you should.”
Since when? In Claire’s view, the opposite was probably more accurate. She always feared she would crack apart under the strain of all she had to do, but somehow, despite the odds, she always managed to get through.
“I have been easing into the work, Mom. I promise. I’m hardly doing anything, just ask Evie.”
“True enough, Ruth,” her friend said helpfully. “She’s been sitting on her lazy butt all morning, just giving orders like the bossy britches she is.”
Ruth looked between the two