Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

cheerleader type. Courtney was losing weight, but she still had a few pounds to go.

      On Tuesday, just before one, I heard the bell over the door and immediately glanced up to see Bethanne walk in. She hadn’t even reached her seat before she pulled out her half-knitted sock and held it up for inspection.

      “Notice, I successfully turned the heel,” she announced. “I feel like I should get a gold star for this. It took hours.”

      “Then you did it wrong,” Margaret offered from the other side of the shop.

      I was irritated by her comment, but smiled encouragingly at Bethanne. “It gets easier the more often you do it, so don’t worry.”

      “I’m not worried. Well, I was at first because it just didn’t look right, but I followed the instructions and everything came out looking exactly the way it should. I knew one thing—I wasn’t giving up until I got it right.”

      “Good for you!” I said, resisting the urge to hug her. I really was very proud of Bethanne. She’d come a long way in this class and I wasn’t just talking about knitting.

      “I wish I could do as well in my job search,” she murmured dejectedly.

      Elise arrived moments after Bethanne, and they sat across from one other and compared socks. Elise had knit socks before and turned the heel, but never on two circular needles, which requires a different technique.

      “This is a lovely job,” I said, studying Elise’s work. Every stitch was perfectly formed. I felt she was a very purposeful knitter—and I had the impression that was exactly how she went about her life, too.

      Courtney was the last one to get there. She rode her bike and parked it outside the shop, chaining it to the light post. I could tell she’d lost more weight. I wanted to say something about how good she looked, but I was afraid my compliment might embarrass her.

      “Sorry I’m late,” Courtney said, bursting into the shop like a sudden squall. She removed the helmet and shrugged off her backpack as she took her seat. Within a minute or two she was set up with her knitting, ready to learn.

      “How did everyone do?” I asked. We’d already reached the most difficult stage of knitting socks and that was the gusset. In my opinion, the technique has been simplified by the two-needle method, but there are still knitters who prefer the four or five double-pointed needle approach. I know that socks can also be knit on a single 40-inch needle in what is known as the “magic loop” method; personally, I’m most comfortable knitting and teaching with the two circular needles.

      I carefully examined everyone’s half-completed first sock and found that my students had done very well. We always went through this procedure, almost a little ritual, even if I’d already seen their work. There was something satisfying about it, maybe because of the way it formally acknowledged everyone’s effort. Sitting with them, I described the next step of the process, then left them to knit.

      “I just wish getting a job was this easy,” Bethanne commented, knitting the stitches from one needle to the other.

      Elise looked at her. “I’ve been giving this matter of a job some thought. Where have you applied?”

      “Everywhere,” she cried, and her voice fell with discouragement. “Everywhere I can think of,” she amended. “The truth is, I hate not being available for my children.”

      “Your children are old enough to be on their own, aren’t they?” Margaret said, feeling free to leap into the conversation despite helping a paying customer. “I’ve got two daughters,” she continued, oblivious to my frown, “and I leave them.”

      Bethanne considered that for a moment. “Do you feel good about it?”

      Margaret shrugged. “Actually, their father’s home this summer and I’m glad of it. We’d both rather he was working, but he’s been able to spend time with the girls and gotten much closer to them.”

      “Well, to be honest, I’m afraid to leave Annie alone,” Bethanne said. I saw Courtney give her a quick glance. “Annie’s not … quite herself and … well, after the upheaval in their lives, I’d rather be around to keep an eye on her. It isn’t that I don’t want to work—I do! But at the same time, I want to give an employer my best and I won’t be able to do that if I’m constantly worried about what’s happening at home.”

      I remembered how hard Brad found this situation as a single father. Cody was eight this year, and he hated the idea of going to day care, but he was too young to be on his own.

      “So, Elise—you said you’d been thinking about this?” Bethanne murmured.

      “I have.”

      “I’ve given it my best shot,” Bethanne said, shaking her head. “I’ve applied for everything from waiting tables—I’m so grateful they didn’t hire me—to a receptionist for a dentist. And just about everything in between.”

      “You really weren’t interested in that job at the dentist’s either, were you?” Elise asked.

      “Not really.”

      Elise laughed. “That’s what I thought. No one will hire you with that attitude.”

      “But I need a job—and soon—otherwise I’m going to end up homeless,” she said grimly.

      I knew that must be an exaggeration; still, I understood how worried she was about finances. I wished there was enough business so I could hire her myself, but there wasn’t and I couldn’t.

      “Every time we talked about this, you said your only real skill was throwing parties, especially kids’ birthday parties.”

      There’d been various discussions about the parties Bethanne had planned for her children through the years. She obviously did have a knack for it.

      Bethanne nodded, with a woeful shrug. “Unfortunately, no one’s going to hire me to do that.”

      “Don’t be so sure,” Elise said.

      Bethanne’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

      “My grandson’s birthday is coming up soon,” Elise continued. “My daughter’s a talented woman, but she doesn’t have a creative bone in her body. I’d like to hire you to help her with Luke’s birthday party.”

      Bethanne immediately sat up straighter. “You mean to say you’d actually pay me to do this?”

      “Within reason, yes,” Elise assured her. I gathered Elise didn’t have much extra cash, so I found this extremely generous.

      “I have lots of wonderful ideas for little boys.” Bethanne was excited now. “What does Luke like?”

      “Currently, it’s dinosaurs.”

      “Perfect. I’ll get dinosaur eggs, fill them with prizes and bury them. The boys can go on a dig, if that won’t damage your daughter’s lawn or garden. Otherwise I’ll simply hide them.”

      Elise smiled. “That sounds good. And I’ll find out if it’s okay to bury the eggs.”

      “I know!” Bethanne said happily. “I could make a dinosaur cake, too—it can’t be that hard. Luke’s probably way beyond Barney, but I’ll bet he’d enjoy a purple cake.”

      Last year about this time, I’d knit Cody a sweater with a big dinosaur on the front and he’d loved it so much, he’d slept with it on. The memory brought a twinge of pain that I did my best to ignore.

      “I’d be happy to help with the party,” Bethanne said, but then her enthusiasm dwindled. “It’s just that I don’t think I’d be able to support myself by throwing kids’ birthday parties.”

      “Don’t be so sure,” Elise said again.

      “Amelia’s about to have her first birthday, and I know Jacqueline’s hoping to