Guiding thread.

Debbie Macomber

Guiding thread

LYDIA HOFFMAN

When knitting a sock by hand, it’s as if you plunge into history and begin to understand how craftswomen lived in the old days. After all, they worked exactly the same way as we do now.

Knitting saved my life. It sustained me through two long cancer relapses. They found a malignant tumor in my brain, which manifested itself in indescribably painful headaches. I thought I couldn’t stand it... The disease had darkened my life since I was sixteen years old, and yet I fought.

So, at sixteen I was given a terrible diagnosis. I learned to knit between chemotherapy sessions. My roommate, who had breast cancer, knitted almost continuously. She became my first teacher. I did not tolerate the injections well. The constant headache made me want to climb the wall, but after chemotherapy I didn’t feel any better either. And only knitting helped me overcome weakness and survive attacks of uncontrollable vomiting. After some time, it became clear that with a couple of knitting needles and a skein of yarn, I could endure whatever was destined for me. Although at that time I was almost bald - my hair was falling out in clumps - I stubbornly wound the wool into balls, knitted the pattern according to the pattern and was happy when I finished the next piece. Handicraft distracted me from my worries, although I managed to knit quite a bit at a time. And yet the achievements, albeit modest, warmed my soul.

Knitting became my salvation, and, of course, my dad saved me. If it weren’t for him, I would never have been able to endure a second relapse... And now I’m alive, but dad, sadly enough, is no more. Ironically, the disease spared me, but it finished off my father.

On his death certificate, the “Cause” column states “major heart attack.” But it seems to me that dad didn’t die from a heart attack at all. When it became clear that my illness had returned, my father lost much more strength than I did. Since my mother was not very good at caring for the sick, my father took on the main burden. He was the one who took me to chemotherapy, he was the one who ensured that I was provided with the best care. Dad gave me the will to live. Completely absorbed in the fight against the disease, I did not even understand what a terrible price he paid for my recovery. When the doctors officially recognized that I was in remission, my father’s heart gave out.

After his death, I realized that I had no right to waste my life. I had to decide what to devote myself to, but in such a way that my late father would be proud of me. For the sake of his memory, I was ready to take a risk. I, Lydia Anna Hoffman, set out to leave a mark on history. Now I understand how pompous these words must sound, but a year ago such a decision seemed to me the only correct one. It came from the heart. Of course, you are wondering what I came up with?

I opened a yarn store in Seattle on Flower Street. I agree with those who believe that such a step is unlikely to change the world, but for me personally, opening a store was a kind of “leap of faith.” I compared myself no more and no less than Noah, who began building his ark in advance, when not a cloud was visible on the horizon. The money I inherited from my grandparents, I invested to the last penny in the business. Just think - I had never held a job for more than a few weeks and had absolutely no understanding of finances, did not know how to draw up business plans and keep books... And yet I took a risk and invested all my savings in something that I really understood - that is, yarn and knitting.

Naturally, I immediately encountered difficulties. At that time, a complete reconstruction was carried out on Tsvetochnaya Street. One of my first knitting students was the chief architect's wife, Jacqueline Donovan. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, who signed up for that first knitting course, remain my closest friends to this day. Last summer, when I opened Guiding Thread, Flower Street was closed to traffic. Everyone who managed to find their way to my store had to put up with dust, dirt and constant noise outside the windows. And yet the chaos reigning on the street and the inconvenience associated with it did not temper my ardor. Fortunately, the visitors, many of whom became regulars, supported me. And of course, my faith in success played a big role.

One could have expected that my family would come to my rescue, but things didn’t quite work out that way. Mom, God bless her, tried her best, but dad's death dealt her a heavy blow. To this day she has never recovered from her grief. When I shared my dreams with my mother, she did not discourage me, but she did not encourage me either. As far as I remember, she said:

Of course, baby, go for it if you think it’s necessary.

However, knowing my mother, I understood that it was difficult to count on more ardent approval.

My older sister Margaret, on the contrary, immediately and unreservedly began to prophesy terrible misfortunes for me. On the day I opened my store, she confidently predicted a quick end to my business. The economy is in crisis, she said gloomily, and all normal people are saving every penny. With a lot of luck, I’ll last about a month and a half... After about ten minutes, I wanted to terminate the lease and forget about my hopes, but then I reminded myself: today is my first day at work, and I haven’t sold a single skein of yarn yet.

As you probably already guessed, Margaret and I have a rather complicated relationship. Don't get me wrong - I love my sister. Before my tumor was found, we regularly quarreled and made peace, like all normal sisters. After I was first diagnosed with a terrible diagnosis, Margaret showed herself to be the most the best side. I remember she brought me a teddy bear to the hospital. I still have it somewhere, unless Whiskers took it away. Whiskers is my cat, he loves to tear everything fluffy and fluffy to shreds.

When the illness returned, Margaret behaved completely differently. She seemed to be hinting that I myself wanted to be sick in order to attract everyone’s attention... Taking the first timid steps towards independence, I hoped that Margaret would support me. Where there! My sister not only did not come to my rescue, but, on the contrary, actively dissuaded me. True, she gradually changed her point of view. My persistence probably affected her.

Margaret cannot be called impetuous and spontaneous. She is in no hurry to pour out her soul. Only after another terrible turn in life did I understand how much my sister loved me. A few months after the opening of Guiding Thread, doctors suspected that my illness had returned. It’s scary to even remember what I went through when Dr. Wilson again sent me for examination. It seemed to me as if my whole world suddenly froze, stopped. To tell the truth, I doubted that I would experience the same thing a third time, and I decided in advance: if the disease really returned, I would refuse treatment. I didn’t want to die, but if the threat of death constantly hangs over you, you eventually stop being afraid of it. In general, I decided: come what may.

My mood upset Margaret - she did not want to put up with my fatalism. Talking about death frightened her, as it frightens almost everyone. normal people. Well, I was on the very edge for so long that death began to seem to me something completely natural and simple. How to suddenly turn off the light... No, I don’t strive for death, but I’m not afraid of it either. Fortunately, the doctors’ suspicions were not confirmed, and now I live and enjoy life, and my store is thriving. I mentioned the black streak only because it was then that I suddenly realized how much my sister loved me. In the last seventeen years, I have only seen her cry twice - when dad died and when Dr. Wilson said I was healthy.

Debbie Macomber

Guiding thread

LYDIA HOFFMAN

When knitting a sock by hand, it’s as if you plunge into history and begin to understand how craftswomen lived in the old days. After all, they worked exactly the same way as we do now.

Knitting saved my life. It sustained me through two long cancer relapses. They found a malignant tumor in my brain, which manifested itself in indescribably painful headaches. I thought I couldn’t stand it... The disease had darkened my life since I was sixteen years old, and yet I fought.

So, at sixteen I was given a terrible diagnosis. I learned to knit between chemotherapy sessions. My roommate, who had breast cancer, knitted almost continuously. She became my first teacher. I did not tolerate the injections well. The constant headache made me want to climb the wall, but after chemotherapy I didn’t feel any better either. And only knitting helped me overcome weakness and survive attacks of uncontrollable vomiting. After some time, it became clear that with a couple of knitting needles and a skein of yarn, I could endure whatever was destined for me. Although at that time I was almost bald - my hair was falling out in clumps - I stubbornly wound the wool into balls, knitted the pattern according to the pattern and was happy when I finished the next piece. Handicraft distracted me from my worries, although I managed to knit quite a bit at a time. And yet the achievements, albeit modest, warmed my soul.

Knitting became my salvation, and, of course, my dad saved me. If it weren’t for him, I would never have been able to endure a second relapse... And now I’m alive, but dad, sadly enough, is no more. Ironically, the disease spared me, but it finished off my father.

On his death certificate, the “Cause” column states “major heart attack.” But it seems to me that dad didn’t die from a heart attack at all. When it became clear that my illness had returned, my father lost much more strength than I did. Since my mother was not very good at caring for the sick, my father took on the main burden. He was the one who took me to chemotherapy, he was the one who ensured that I was provided with the best care. Dad gave me the will to live. Completely absorbed in the fight against the disease, I did not even understand what a terrible price he paid for my recovery. When the doctors officially recognized that I was in remission, my father’s heart gave out.

After his death, I realized that I had no right to waste my life. I had to decide what to devote myself to, but in such a way that my late father would be proud of me. For the sake of his memory, I was ready to take a risk. I, Lydia Anna Hoffman, set out to leave a mark on history. Now I understand how pompous these words must sound, but a year ago such a decision seemed to me the only correct one. It came from the heart. Of course, you are wondering what I came up with?

I opened a yarn store in Seattle on Flower Street. I agree with those who believe that such a step is unlikely to change the world, but for me personally, opening a store was a kind of “leap of faith.” I compared myself no more and no less than Noah, who began building his ark in advance, when not a cloud was visible on the horizon. The money I inherited from my grandparents, I invested to the last penny in the business. Just think - I’ve never held any job for more than a few weeks and I had absolutely no understanding of finances, I didn’t know how to make business plans and keep the books... And yet, I took a risk and invested all my savings in what I really understood - that is, in yarn and knitting.

Naturally, I immediately encountered difficulties. At that time, a complete reconstruction was carried out on Tsvetochnaya Street. One of my first knitting students was the chief architect's wife, Jacqueline Donovan. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, who signed up for that first knitting course, remain my closest friends to this day. Last summer, when I opened Guiding Thread, Flower Street was closed to traffic. Everyone who managed to find their way to my store had to put up with dust, dirt and constant noise outside the windows. And yet the chaos reigning on the street and the inconvenience associated with it did not temper my ardor. Fortunately, the visitors, many of whom became regulars, supported me. And of course, my faith in success played a big role.

One could have expected that my family would come to my rescue, but things didn’t quite work out that way. Mom, God bless her, tried her best, but dad's death dealt her a heavy blow. To this day she has never recovered from her grief. When I shared my dreams with my mother, she did not discourage me, but she did not encourage me either. As far as I remember, she said:

Of course, baby, go for it if you think it’s necessary.

However, knowing my mother, I understood that it was difficult to count on more ardent approval.

My older sister Margaret, on the contrary, immediately and unreservedly began to prophesy terrible misfortunes for me. On the day I opened my store, she confidently predicted a quick end to my business. The economy is in crisis, she said gloomily, and all normal people are saving every penny. With a lot of luck, I’ll last about a month and a half... After about ten minutes, I wanted to terminate the lease and forget about my hopes, but then I reminded myself: today is my first day at work, and I haven’t sold a single skein of yarn yet.

As you probably already guessed, Margaret and I have a rather complicated relationship. Don't get me wrong - I love my sister. Before my tumor was found, we regularly quarreled and made peace, like all normal sisters. After I was first diagnosed with a terrible disease, Margaret showed her best side. I remember she brought me a teddy bear to the hospital. I still have it somewhere, unless Whiskers took it away. Whiskers is my cat, he loves to tear everything fluffy and fluffy to shreds.

When the illness returned, Margaret behaved completely differently. She seemed to be hinting that I myself wanted to be sick in order to attract everyone’s attention... Taking the first timid steps towards independence, I hoped that Margaret would support me. Where there! My sister not only did not come to my rescue, but, on the contrary, actively dissuaded me. True, she gradually changed her point of view. My persistence probably affected her.

Margaret cannot be called impetuous and spontaneous. She is in no hurry to pour out her soul. Only after another terrible turn in life did I understand how much my sister loved me. A few months after the opening of Guiding Thread, doctors suspected that my illness had returned. It’s scary to even remember what I went through when Dr. Wilson again sent me for examination. It seemed to me as if my whole world suddenly froze, stopped. To tell the truth, I doubted that I would experience the same thing a third time, and I decided in advance: if the disease really returned, I would refuse treatment. I didn’t want to die, but if the threat of death constantly hangs over you, you eventually stop being afraid of it. In general, I decided: come what may.

My mood upset Margaret - she did not want to put up with my fatalism. Talking about death frightened her, as it frightens almost all normal people. Well, I was on the very edge for so long that death began to seem to me something quite natural and simple. How to suddenly turn off the light... No, I don’t strive for death, but I’m not afraid of it either. Fortunately, the doctors’ suspicions were not confirmed, and now I live and enjoy life, and my store is thriving. I mentioned the black streak only because it was then that I suddenly realized how much my sister loved me. In the last seventeen years, I have only seen her cry twice - when dad died and when Dr. Wilson said I was healthy.

As soon as I was able to work again full force, Margaret, with threats and promises, forced me

Yes, let’s ask Bethany,” she agreed. - And Aurora will be the bridesmaid. - She hugged his waist and looked into his eyes.

Invite your new girlfriends from knitting courses too.

What about book lovers?

Invite everyone you want.

Eliza frowned. Such expenses are excessive. Still, we need to somehow calm him down, moderate his ardor...

Why are there so many people? In my opinion, we can limit ourselves to only the closest ones...

For my sake,” Maverick said.

Eliza nodded and nevertheless decided to remind her beloved that she was now in difficult circumstances.

Maverick,” she began, “don’t forget, I’m litigating, and...

What does your litigation have to do with it?

The legal process requires a lot of effort and money.

Everything will work out. Just promise that you won't worry. - He looked inquisitively into her eyes.

Eliza walked into the living room and sat down on the edge of the brown leather sofa.

How can I not worry? You have no idea how much money I lost. I don’t forget about this for a minute!

Yes, but you can’t help grief with worry. What will be will be. No matter what you do now, the result will not change. Everything depends on the court's decision - isn't that what you told me yourself?

Eliza nodded.

From now on, I will take care of your financial affairs.

Noticing that she was mechanically about to object, he said:

Eliza, I want to help you. I'm a rich man.

She closed her eyes. Rich? Maverick?!

Do not look at me so!

Maverick, you are a professional player. You can't make big money by gambling!

He took a deep breath:

Yes, I lost a lot in life chasing the big jackpot. I probably could have succeeded in many places, but cards attracted me more than anything else. - He chuckled and shrugged. - I have a natural instinct!

Eliza remembered that Maverick was never late with checks for Aurora's maintenance. She often wondered how he managed to stay on top of his payments and thought he won small sums from time to time... but for him to become rich?

“You lost the last tournament in the Caribbean,” she whispered.

Absolutely right. I took second place and received eight hundred thousand dollars from the prize fund.

Eliza gasped.

Think what you want, but the socks you knitted brought me good luck.

If she hadn't already been sitting, her knees would have buckled.

Eight hundred thousand dollars?! - she repeated in a breaking voice. - You must be joking! - Eliza had no idea that there was so much money in poker tournaments.

Obviously you don't know, but last years More and more people are getting into poker...

Completely stunned, she automatically shook her head.

I put almost all of my winnings into a trust fund for Aurora, David and the boys. Well, he did something else... As my mother would say, “he planted the seeds of faith.”

Eliza raised her head and looked at him with wide eyes.

So it's you! - she whispered. - It was you who gave Bethany the money she needed so much!

Well, if you say so,” he answered calmly, but the corners of his lips twitched.

Yes... So, the mysterious benefactor is you!

Everything fell into place. Maverick waited for her while she knitted, and on the way home she told him about the affairs of her friends.

It was you who invited sister Courtney here before the ball... By the way, how did you even find her?

Cheerful lights sparkled in his eyes.

The last name Pulanski doesn't come up very often, right?

Who helped Margaret's husband get a job?

“He was taken on his own merits,” Maverick objected and smiled even wider. - Although... I don’t deny that I took advantage of old connections. Whispered a word to the right person. Well, his hiring bonus is a completely different story.

Eliza had never heard of any award.

And do you often do this?

Flower Street - 2

LYDIA HOFFMAN

When knitting a sock by hand, it’s as if you plunge into history and begin to understand how craftswomen lived in the old days. After all, they worked exactly the same way as we do now.

Knitting saved my life. It sustained me through two long cancer relapses. They found a malignant tumor in my brain, which manifested itself in indescribably painful headaches. I thought I couldn’t stand it... The disease had darkened my life since I was sixteen years old, and yet I fought.

So, at sixteen I was given a terrible diagnosis. I learned to knit between chemotherapy sessions. My roommate, who had breast cancer, knitted almost continuously. She became my first teacher. I did not tolerate the injections well. The constant headache made me want to climb the wall, but after chemotherapy I didn’t feel any better either. And only knitting helped me overcome weakness and survive attacks of uncontrollable vomiting. After some time, it became clear that with a couple of knitting needles and a skein of yarn, I could endure whatever was destined for me. Although at that time I was almost bald - my hair was falling out in clumps - I stubbornly wound the wool into balls, knitted a pattern according to the pattern and was happy when I finished the next piece. Handicraft distracted me from my worries, although I managed to knit quite a bit at a time. And yet the achievements, albeit modest, warmed my soul.

Knitting became my salvation, and, of course, my dad saved me. If it weren’t for him, I would never have been able to endure a second relapse... And now I’m alive, but dad, sadly enough, is no more. Ironically, the disease spared me, but it finished off my father.

On his death certificate, the “Cause” column states “major heart attack.” But it seems to me that dad didn’t die from a heart attack at all. When it became clear that my illness had returned, my father lost much more strength than I did. Since my mother was not very good at caring for the sick, my father took on the main burden. He was the one who took me to chemotherapy, he was the one who ensured that I was provided with the best care. Dad gave me the will to live. Completely absorbed in the fight against the disease, I did not even understand what a terrible price he paid for my recovery. When the doctors officially recognized that I was in remission, my father’s heart gave out.

After his death, I realized that I had no right to waste my life. I had to decide what to devote myself to, but in such a way that my late father would be proud of me. For the sake of his memory, I was ready to take a risk. I, Lydia Anna Hoffman, set out to leave a mark on history. Now I understand how pompous these words must sound, but a year ago such a decision seemed to me the only correct one. It came from the heart. Of course, you are wondering what I came up with?

I opened a yarn store in Seattle on Flower Street. I agree with those who believe that such a step is unlikely to change the world, but for me personally, opening a store was a kind of “leap of faith.” I compared myself no more and no less than Noah, who began building his ark in advance, when not a cloud was visible on the horizon. The money I inherited from my grandparents, I invested to the last penny in the business. Just think - I had never held a job for more than a few weeks and had absolutely no understanding of finances, did not know how to draw up business plans or keep books... And yet I took a risk and invested all my savings in something that I really understood, that is, yarn and knitting.

Naturally, I immediately encountered difficulties. At that time, a complete reconstruction was carried out on Tsvetochnaya Street. One of my first knitting students was the chief architect's wife, Jacqueline Donovan. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, who signed up for that first knitting course, remain my closest friends to this day.

Debbie Macomber

Guiding thread

LYDIA HOFFMAN

When knitting a sock by hand, it’s as if you plunge into history and begin to understand how craftswomen lived in the old days. After all, they worked exactly the same way as we do now.

Knitting saved my life. It sustained me through two long cancer relapses. They found a malignant tumor in my brain, which manifested itself in indescribably painful headaches. I thought I couldn’t stand it... The disease had darkened my life since I was sixteen years old, and yet I fought.

So, at sixteen I was given a terrible diagnosis. I learned to knit between chemotherapy sessions. My roommate, who had breast cancer, knitted almost continuously. She became my first teacher. I did not tolerate the injections well. The constant headache made me want to climb the wall, but after chemotherapy I didn’t feel any better either. And only knitting helped me overcome weakness and survive attacks of uncontrollable vomiting. After some time, it became clear that with a couple of knitting needles and a skein of yarn, I could endure whatever was destined for me. Although at that time I was almost bald - my hair was falling out in clumps - I stubbornly wound the wool into balls, knitted the pattern according to the pattern and was happy when I finished the next piece. Handicraft distracted me from my worries, although I managed to knit quite a bit at a time. And yet the achievements, albeit modest, warmed my soul.

Knitting became my salvation, and, of course, my dad saved me. If it weren’t for him, I would never have been able to endure a second relapse... And now I’m alive, but dad, sadly enough, is no more. Ironically, the disease spared me, but it finished off my father.

On his death certificate, the “Cause” column states “major heart attack.” But it seems to me that dad didn’t die from a heart attack at all. When it became clear that my illness had returned, my father lost much more strength than I did. Since my mother was not very good at caring for the sick, my father took on the main burden. He was the one who took me to chemotherapy, he was the one who ensured that I was provided with the best care. Dad gave me the will to live. Completely absorbed in the fight against the disease, I did not even understand what a terrible price he paid for my recovery. When the doctors officially recognized that I was in remission, my father’s heart gave out.

After his death, I realized that I had no right to waste my life. I had to decide what to devote myself to, but in such a way that my late father would be proud of me. For the sake of his memory, I was ready to take a risk. I, Lydia Anna Hoffman, set out to leave a mark on history. Now I understand how pompous these words must sound, but a year ago such a decision seemed to me the only correct one. It came from the heart. Of course, you are wondering what I came up with?

I opened a yarn store in Seattle on Flower Street. I agree with those who believe that such a step is unlikely to change the world, but for me personally, opening a store was a kind of “leap of faith.” I compared myself no more and no less than Noah, who began building his ark in advance, when not a cloud was visible on the horizon. The money I inherited from my grandparents, I invested to the last penny in the business. Just think - I had never held a job for more than a few weeks and had absolutely no understanding of finances, did not know how to draw up business plans and keep books... And yet I took a risk and invested all my savings in something that I really understood - that is, yarn and knitting.

Naturally, I immediately encountered difficulties. At that time, a complete reconstruction was carried out on Tsvetochnaya Street. One of my first knitting students was the chief architect's wife, Jacqueline Donovan. Jacqueline, Carol and Alix, who signed up for that first knitting course, remain my closest friends to this day. Last summer, when I opened Guiding Thread, Flower Street was closed to traffic. Everyone who managed to find their way to my store had to put up with dust, dirt and constant noise outside the windows. And yet the chaos reigning on the street and the inconvenience associated with it did not temper my ardor. Fortunately, the visitors, many of whom became regulars, supported me. And of course, my faith in success played a big role.

One could have expected that my family would come to my rescue, but things didn’t quite work out that way. Mom, God bless her, tried her best, but dad's death dealt her a heavy blow. To this day she has never recovered from her grief. When I shared my dreams with my mother, she did not discourage me, but she did not encourage me either. As far as I remember, she said:

- Of course, baby, go for it if you think it’s necessary.

However, knowing my mother, I understood that it was difficult to count on more ardent approval.

My older sister Margaret, on the contrary, immediately and unreservedly began to prophesy terrible misfortunes for me. On the day I opened my store, she confidently predicted a quick end to my business. The economy is in crisis, she said gloomily, and all normal people are saving every penny. With a lot of luck, I’ll last about a month and a half... After about ten minutes, I wanted to terminate the lease and forget about my hopes, but then I reminded myself: today is my first day at work, and I haven’t sold a single skein of yarn yet.

As you probably already guessed, Margaret and I have a rather complicated relationship. Don't get me wrong - I love my sister. Before my tumor was found, we regularly quarreled and made peace, like all normal sisters. After I was first diagnosed with a terrible disease, Margaret showed her best side. I remember she brought me a teddy bear to the hospital. I still have it somewhere, unless Whiskers took it away. Whiskers is my cat, he loves to tear everything fluffy and fluffy to shreds.

When the illness returned, Margaret behaved completely differently. She seemed to be hinting that I myself wanted to be sick in order to attract everyone’s attention... Taking the first timid steps towards independence, I hoped that Margaret would support me. Where there! My sister not only did not come to my rescue, but, on the contrary, actively dissuaded me. True, she gradually changed her point of view. My persistence probably affected her.

Margaret cannot be called impetuous and spontaneous. She is in no hurry to pour out her soul. Only after another terrible turn in life did I understand how much my sister loved me. A few months after the opening of Guiding Thread, doctors suspected that my illness had returned. It’s scary to even remember what I went through when Dr. Wilson again sent me for examination. It seemed to me as if my whole world suddenly froze, stopped. To tell the truth, I doubted that I would experience the same thing a third time, and I decided in advance: if the disease really returned, I would refuse treatment. I didn’t want to die, but if the threat of death constantly hangs over you, you eventually stop being afraid of it. In general, I decided: come what may.

My mood upset Margaret - she did not want to put up with my fatalism. Talking about death frightened her, as it frightens almost all normal people. Well, I was on the very edge for so long that death began to seem to me something quite natural and simple. How to suddenly turn off the light... No, I don’t strive for death, but I’m not afraid of it either. Fortunately, the doctors’ suspicions were not confirmed, and now I live and enjoy life, and my store is thriving. I mentioned the black streak only because it was then that I suddenly realized how much my sister loved me. In the last seventeen years, I've only seen her cry twice - when dad died and when Dr. Wilson said I was healthy.

As soon as I was able to work at full capacity again, Margaret, through threats and promises, forced me to make peace with Brad Goetz. Brad is a driver for UPS, the United Parcel Service that delivers our ordered yarn and accessories. He and I started dating last year. He is divorced and has an eight-year-old son, Cody. To say that Brad is handsome is an understatement - he is stunning. The first time he wheeled a cart full of boxes into my store, I was petrified, and then so nervous that I could barely sign the receipt. Brad asked me out for drinks three times before I accepted. Remembering my “rich” experience in relationships with the opposite sex, I was sure that on a date with Brad I would feel out of place. I would never have had the courage to agree if it weren't for Margaret. My sister literally forced me to say yes.

I always say that Guiding Thread was an affirmation of my will to live, but according to my sister, I was always afraid of life. I was afraid to really live, afraid to go beyond the tiny cozy world that I created for myself in my little shop. I understood that she was right in many ways, and yet I persisted. For many years, the only men I had contact with were my father or the doctor; I have no more social experience than a dandelion! But Margaret wouldn't listen to my excuses, and soon Brad and I began seeing each other regularly. At first we had a drink after work, then we had dinner together, went on picnics with Cody and went to baseball games. I loved my little son Brad as much as I loved my two nieces, Julia and Hailey.

Brad and I see each other quite often now. Fearing that my illness had returned, I pushed him away—and I was wrong, as Margaret likes to point out. Then Brad forgave me and we resumed our relationship. We're not in a hurry... or rather, I'm not in a hurry, and Brad isn't rushing me. One day he was badly burned: his wife left him, saying that she needed to “look for herself.” We can't forget about Cody. The boy is very attached to Brad; Although Cody loves me too, I don't want to interfere with the father-son relationship. So far, everything is going well for us, and we are increasingly talking about a future together. Now Brad and Cody have become a part of my life, and I can no longer imagine myself apart from them.

A lot of time passed, and Margaret finally appreciated my store. At first she doubted, but then she believed in me. Moreover, she now works for me. Yes, yes, she and I work side by side - isn’t this a miracle? Sometimes we, of course, quarrel, but overall our relationship has become much better than before. I'm glad Margaret is with me - in every sense of the word.

I'll tell you a little about my store, although I'm afraid I'll get carried away. As soon as I saw him, I immediately realized what powerful potential he had. Despite the reconstruction of the entire street, the inability to drive up to it by car and frequently changing neighbors, the place turned out to be simply ideal. Before I even walked inside, I was ready to sign the lease. I liked the huge display windows facing the street. Now Whiskers almost always sleeps in the window, curled up comfortably between balls of yarn. Boxes of flowers outside the window immediately brought to mind my father’s first store, which sold bicycles. I decided that this was a good sign. Dad seemed to nod approvingly, urging me to open my own store here. The matter was completed by a motley, but rather dusty, striped canopy over the entrance. It became clear to me that an old-fashioned store could turn into an oasis of comfort and warmth, as I had imagined in my imagination. And so it happened.

The reconstruction of Flower Street is almost complete. The building that used to house a bank has been converted into a super-expensive apartment building, and the former video store across the street from the Guiding Thread is now a French-style cafe, called, naturally, the French Cafe. Alix Townsend used to work at the video store and she signed up for my very first beginner knitting course; I’m glad that she is now working as a pastry chef, one might say, in the same place. Unfortunately, the former Annie's Cafe a few doors down is closed for now, but it's unlikely to remain empty for long. Our neighborhood is developing rapidly.

The bell above the door rings and Margaret enters the store. The first Tuesday in June turned out to be fine. It feels like summer is just around the corner in the Pacific Northwest.

- Good morning! – I say hello, pouring coffee into a small coffee maker. We drink coffee in the utility room, which I partially converted into my office.

Margaret doesn’t answer right away – she mutters something unintelligible. She probably had a fight with her husband or one of her daughters. It’s okay, now she’ll tell me everything!

“I put the coffee on,” I announce as Margaret comes into the utility room to put her bag in the closet.

Without answering, the sister takes the freshly washed cup from the tray and removes the pitcher from the coffee maker. Coffee is still dripping from the filter, the drops hit the heating element and hiss, but she doesn’t seem to notice anything.

Finally I get tired of waiting. It becomes clear that her bad mood will not go away on its own.

- What's wrong? – I ask not too kindly. Lately, my sister often comes to work in a bad mood.

Margaret glances sideways at me and tries to smile.

- Nothing... sorry. It just feels like it's Monday.

Since the store is closed on Mondays, our work week begins on Tuesday. I frown, trying to guess what is really bothering Margaret. But the sister is still silent and pretends as if nothing happened.

My sister is a real beauty, she has broad shoulders and thick black hair. She is tall and flexible, but not at all fragile. Her figure is still athletic, as in her early youth. It's a pity that she never agrees to change her hairstyle. As in high school, she combs her hair in the middle and lets it fall over her shoulders. The ends obediently bend inward, as if Margaret were twisting them with tongs. As a teenager, she used to spend hours curling her hair, pouring hairspray on her hair, and in the evening vigorously combing her hair with a brush. Although classic style It still suits her, I really want her to try something new.

Yeah, I'm interested! Good sign. For the most part, my training was successful. After knitting courses for beginners and intermediates, my students mastered Scottish sweaters and Fair Isle knitting. And now I was going to fulfill one of my old dreams.

– Is it really so difficult to answer?

My sister's irritated question brings me out of my thoughts.

After many companies launched new types of sock yarn on the market, knitting socks became a craze. Our store has an abundance of yarn from various European brands. I love when there is so much to choose from! My customers, however, too. Designers have developed special types of sectional yarns specifically for socks with complex patterns. This yarn is especially pleasant to knit with.

“I see...” Margaret shrugs. – Probably, you will knit on two circular needles, and not on stocking needles? – she clarified casually.

- Certainly.

I prefer to knit on circular needles; Margaret crochets. Although she is good at it, she does not do needlework often.

– Nowadays, it seems, everyone is into hand-knitted socks? – she asks still casually, almost indifferently.

I look closely at my sister. As a rule, as soon as I suggest something, she immediately convincingly proves that nothing will come of my plan. Our picks with her turned into a kind of game. I suggest something, and Margaret immediately explains why my idea is doomed to fail. And now I want to defend my point of view, but my sister is stubbornly silent.

Personally, I fell in love with knitting socks long before the current fashion for them. What appeals to me most is that they knit up relatively quickly. Having finished a large item - for example, a shawl or a sweater - you want to quickly knit something for a change: once - and you're done. Accustomed to knitting for days, I was happy to watch how my creation literally took shape in a matter of hours. Socks take almost no time, they require very little yarn. Plus, socks make a great gift. Yes, I was determined to take a new course. And I’m going to hold it on Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, as a rule, we have few customers, so no one will disturb our activities.

Margaret nodded in response to my question.

“I think you won’t have enough students,” she muttered.

I stare at my sister; For a second I think there are tears in her eyes. What actually happened? I've already said that Margaret almost never cries.

– Are you feeling well? – I ask quietly, just in case. I don’t want to be annoying... And yet, if she really feels bad, let her know that I’m worried about her.

- Stop asking! – she answers dryly.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I finally recognize the old Margaret!

“Please write an advertisement,” I ask. In terms of artistic abilities, Margaret is much more gifted than me, so I entrust all the design work to her.

She shrugs again, without any enthusiasm.

- Okay, I'll write by lunchtime.

- Great!

I walk up to the front door, unlock it, and flip the sign from "Closed" to "Open." Whiskers, lying on the windowsill basking in the morning sun, lazily raises his head. There is a red royal geranium blooming in a box outside the window. It seems to me that the ground is dry, so I pour water into a watering can and go outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the brown side of a truck with a familiar logo, and, as always, I am filled with joy. Brad has arrived!

Somehow squeezing into the parking lot in front of a nearby flower shop, he jumps to the ground, smiling from ear to ear.

-What a wonderful morning!

A smile like his can melt even an icy heart, let alone mine... Brad smiles with all his heart, with his whole being, and he has the brightest Blue eyes in the world. Just like two blue beacons. It seems to me that I can distinguish them from afar.

– Did you bring me yarn? - I ask.

– Today I brought only myself. If you have coffee, I think I'll come in for a couple of minutes.

- There is coffee.

Brad and I developed our own rituals. He stops by at Guiding Thread twice a week, sometimes delivering an order, and sometimes just like that, if he has a free minute. He never stays long. He pours himself some coffee into a travel mug, takes a moment, gives me a quick kiss and goes on to work. As always, I follow him into the back room and feign surprise when he embraces me. I love it when he kisses me... Today he kissed me on the forehead, then on the cheeks, and then got to the lips, and it was like an electric shock hit me. This is how his proximity affects me, as Brad knows very well!

He holds me long enough until I regain my balance. Finally we move away from each other and he reaches for the coffee pot. A worried expression appears on his face.

– Did Margaret quarrel with Matt? - he inquires.

I open my mouth to reassure him that everything is fine, but then I decide to remain silent. After all, I really don’t know anything!

- Why do you ask?

“Your sister hasn’t been herself lately,” he remarks in a low voice. – Don’t you see for yourself?

“Something obviously happened to her.”

Until today, Margaret had never missed an opportunity to have a verbal battle with me.

– Do you want me to ask her myself? – Brad asks, forgetting to lower his voice.

“Maybe, but not now...” I don’t answer right away.

Margaret, why the hell, will be offended and attack Brad like she did me! Although... My sister adores Brad, she’s about to fall in love with him herself. If anyone is able to overcome her protective barrier, it is only him.

- And when?

– Probably when we all get together.

Brad shakes his head.

“I think it’s best to find out when Matt isn’t around.”

- Right. – I bite my lip. – Are there any other proposals?

But he doesn’t have time to answer. Margaret pulls back the curtain separating the back room from the sales area and gives us a withering look. Brad and I wince. I can imagine what guilty faces we have now!

- Listen, lovebirds, if you are going to wash my bones, then at least don’t scream at the top of your lungs! – With these words, the sister lowers the curtain and goes out into the sales area.

ELIZA BEAUMONT

Eliza Beaumont was looking forward to and at the same time very afraid of retirement. She was glad that from now on she would not have to wake up to an alarm clock. She got up when her body told her that she had already slept, and sat down at the table when she felt hungry, and not when there was a lunch break in her school library.

However, not everything is so rosy. For many years in a row, Eliza cut herself and saved on everything so that in her old age she could move into her own house on her own piece of land. She searched for a long time, looked at typical villages and finally found what she liked. The cottage community of her dreams is located on the outskirts of Seattle. True, the ocean was not visible from there, but the houses stood on the edge of a pine grove. Eliza was already imagining how she would drink coffee on the tiny backyard and watch the deer and other wildlife. The developer demanded a large sum of cash, and Eliza withdrew the money from her account. She expected that the company would be reputable and decent... In general, it turned out that everything was quite the opposite. She, like other unfortunate people who dreamed of their own house, was misled and deceived. A month later, the development company declared itself bankrupt, and as a result, she had neither a home nor savings - only the bills for lawyers kept growing.

Lying in bed, Eliza sighed heavily: she had wanted to travel all her life. She was born and raised in Seattle and has never traveled further than Puget Sound. Now she can't afford travel. But for the first time since childhood, she remembered her creative inclinations. I'll have to start knitting again, and I can also learn to paint with oil paints. Eliza has been dealing with books almost all her life, and she herself wanted to write a novel or story for children... Now she is free to try her hand at anything, but only after the class action lawsuit against the construction company is satisfied. Until then, all that remains is to lament how little money she has and wait for the outcome of the trial.

Until everything is somehow resolved, everything else hangs by a thread. Lawyers are filling out the necessary paperwork, and the case will soon be sent to court. There's still a long wait. In the best case scenario, she and the rest of the co-investors will see at least part of their money in a year... If, of course, they get at least something back, but this is still in doubt. In general, Eliza really hoped that all was not lost.

Failure to own a home is not her only problem. Confident that she was about to move to a cottage community, Eliza did not renew the apartment rental agreement. She, of course, was in a hurry. Housing is tight in Seattle, and it's not just that it's not easy to find something decent.

The apartments are rented out at exorbitant prices - you would have to spend the lion's share of your pension on a new one. The daughter invited Eliza to stay with her for now, and Eliza agreed, although she promised herself that it would not be for long. But six months have passed...

No... There is no need to remember the misfortune that befell her. Such thoughts only make you sad. She wanted to buy her own home, but as a result, she lost all her savings. But she is relatively healthy, she has a wonderful daughter and grandchildren. Besides, she hasn't lost her mind yet.

- Grandma, grandma! - six-year-old John shouted, banging on her door. -Are you awake? Can I come in?

Eliza stood up and pulled back the bolt. The freckled grandson smiled slyly, looking up at her. His coarse red hair stood on end, just like Maverick’s once did. Looking at her youngest grandson, she often remembered ex-husband, although over the past thirty years they have seen him infrequently. I wonder how she managed to fall in love with a professional player, and also marry him? Incomprehensible... Apparently, for the only time in her life she succumbed to an inexplicable impulse.

But how she idolized him at first! Eliza fell head over heels in love with him. They got married a few weeks after they met - and they met, by the way, not just anywhere, but in a grocery store. Soon Aurora was born, and difficulties began. Marvin Beaumont, nicknamed Maverick, worked for an insurance company, but even at that time he had an unhealthy addiction to cards and other gambling. Then he almost killed them all! In the end, Eliza realized that she had no other choice and left her husband. Every time she threatened him with divorce, he begged her for forgiveness, asked her to give him another chance. The same thing happened over and over again. Eliza cut Maverick out of her life, although she is still hurt. She never loved anyone else like that. She tried to find a replacement for him, but other men failed to ignite a spark of love in her.

No, she did not live as a recluse and did not rule out the possibility of getting married again. The closest she came to taking a decisive step was when Aurora turned fifteen. And suddenly it turned out that Jules, a symphony orchestra musician with whom she was dating at the time, had a wife and two daughters in San Francisco. Disillusioned with men, Eliza no longer sought new romances. And simple life has its joys.

Her daughter looked in the door with a worried look.

“John, I told you not to bother grandma!” - Aurora reproached her son and, grabbing his hand, dragged him away. - Sorry, mom. “I asked the boys to let you sleep,” she added, glancing guiltily at Eliza.

- It’s okay, I’m already awake.

Even though Eliza did not dream of living in her old age in the house of her daughter, a housewife with two children, for now both she and Aurora were happy with everything. Eliza took her furniture to the warehouse; it is unknown how the litigation will end, but she has a roof over her head.

While waiting for the verdict, Eliza paid Aurora and her husband David rent. At their insistence, the amount was very small, and yet it made a modest contribution to their family budget. In addition, Eliza helped her daughter with the children. David, Eliza's brother-in-law, worked for a computer company that sold software throughout North America. Therefore, David was often away from home for a week or even two. Eliza and Aurora were always close, they were not embarrassed by each other’s company. Eliza was very grateful for her daughter's encouragement and support.

– Shall we go to the park today? – asked John.

- May be. – Eliza did not like to deny her grandson anything. “I’ll be going on business soon and I don’t know when I’ll be free.”

– Can I run errands with you? – John couldn’t sit still. He was always running somewhere, in a hurry to see everything and help everyone. He couldn't wait to plunge headlong into the thick of life. It's a shame, but sometimes you have to take breaks.

- No, honey, you have to go to school today.

The boy's face fell, but he could not remain depressed for long. Having heard the refusal, he shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly and ran away to his brother.

“I wanted to take a walk to Flower Street - a yarn shop opened there,” Eliza said.

She immediately realized that Aurora liked that she was interested in knitting again. Eliza recently visited her lawyer and then took a walk along the renovated Flower Street. It was then that a cute little shop caught her attention.