A Good Yarn Page 0,71

of what she might do. She'd tried to talk to her, to help her, and explain that she understood - she'd gone through this horrible emotional pain herself. But Annie had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested.

Then, on a Monday afternoon, after no contact in almost two weeks, Annie had phoned and invited Courtney to her house. Her grandmother dropped her off at the Hamlins' on her way to the church, where Vera volunteered at the library once a month. Before she moved to Seattle, Courtney had assumed her grandmother sat in front of the television and knit most afternoons. Boy, had she been wrong. Vera was at the pool four mornings a week and ate a robust breakfast. Then she worked in her yard and garden. She probably spent as many hours doing volunteer work, including various church committees, as she would've spent on a full-time job.

As Grams drove off, Courtney stood on the sidewalk and examined Annie's house. She immediately liked the brick structure with its steep front steps, rounded door and the gable that jutted out over the small porch. It reminded her of homes in some Chicago neighborhoods.

Homesickness rushed through her. Chicago was where she had friends, where everything was familiar. Courtney hated having to rebuild her life in her senior year of high school. She'd worked for eleven years to reach this point, and she'd looked forward to being with her friends, some of whom she'd known nearly her entire life.

She found it hard not to feel sorry for herself, but Courtney knew, and had long ago accepted, that this sacrifice was necessary. Julianna had recently reminded Courtney that next year, when she left for college, she'd be experiencing the same kind of dislocation, so in essence Courtney was simply making the move a year earlier than she normally would. She'd be that much more prepared for college, Julianna said, and Courtney appreciated her sister's insight. She relied on the contact with her family, especially Julianna, to ward off feelings of isolation.

Annie opened the door before Courtney had even rung the bell. "I saw your grandmother pull up," she said. She wore tight shorts, a loose T-shirt and big fuzzy slippers.

And she wasn't smiling. Their conversation had been short, and she wondered if it'd been prompted by Bethanne or if Annie was sincere about wanting to see her. At the time, Courtney had been too grateful to question the other girl's motives.

"How's it going?" Courtney asked, walking into the house.

"All right, I guess." Annie turned and headed up the stairs.

Courtney followed her, although she wished she could look around a bit more. The house was beautiful, with cream-colored walls, furniture upholstered in dark reds and greens, shining wood floors, simple but expensive-looking area rugs. Fresh flowers graced the mantel. As she'd expected, Bethanne had gorgeous taste.

Photographs lined the wall, and she paused long enough to look at the family portrait, obviously taken in better times. Andrew resembled his father, with deep blue eyes and a strong square chin, and Annie took after her mother. "Where is everyone?" she asked, trudging up the carpeted stairs.

"Out," Annie responded. "Why? Is that a problem?"

Courtney decided to ignore the lack of welcome. "It's fine with me."

"Good." Annie had reached the top of the stairs and frowned when she saw Courtney regarding the framed portraits. "I told Mom to throw those away, but she wouldn't do it."

The glass in the most recent family photograph was cracked, and Courtney wondered if Annie had tried to destroy it. "There's pictures of my mother all over our house in Chicago, too." Or there had been before the house was rented. "I used to come home, all excited about something, and rush into the house. Then as soon as I saw Mom's photo I'd start to cry." Talking about it still had that effect on her, and she turned aside to blot her eyes with her sleeve.

Annie didn't respond for a moment, and when she did speak, her voice was barely above a whisper. "When Dad first left, I thought for sure he'd be back. I hated him for leaving us. I wanted to...to punish him, and at the same time, I wanted him here, the way he'd always been." She looked away as if she'd said more than she'd intended.

"I didn't cry at my mom's funeral," Courtney confessed. "Everyone was sobbing and carrying on. Even my dad broke down." It was difficult to tell anyone this, even now, but she felt