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the mouse and clicked on the printer icon. The printer started to hum, and they both stared at it as a sheet of paper slowly emerged.

Courtney picked it up and studied the design. "It looks fabulous."

"You think so?" Annie asked. "I mean, I think it does, but it has to be perfect, you know? It has to look professional."

"It does. Your mom's going to flip when she sees it."

Annie's smile was bright with unshed tears. "Thanks, Court."

Court - that was what her friends in Chicago used to call her. For the first time since she'd left home, she didn't have that empty feeling in her stomach.

"Hey, what are you two up to?" Andrew asked, leaning against his sister's door.

He looked really good. He must've just returned from football camp because he carried his gym bag, which was unzipped. His cleats were on top.

"I designed Mom some business cards," Annie told him.

Courtney handed him the printout.

"Hey, this is good!"

"Don't act so surprised," his sister snapped.

His eyes met Courtney's, and he grinned. "You two want to go out for pizza?"

"You buying?" Annie asked.

"Sure. I got paid this week." He gestured at Courtney. "Can you come?"

"I'd like to." One slice of pizza and a small salad would be fine. She'd enjoy her friends' company and eat a reasonably healthy meal.

She was no longer trying to fill the hollowness inside.

CHAPTER 25

"Knitters just naturally create communities of friends and newfound friends at work, after work, or on the Internet, sharing their passion for knitting."

- Mary Colucci, Executive Director,

Warm Up America! Foundation

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I'd been spending a lot of time outside the shop, talking to the loan managers at three local banks. I had to do something to help Margaret, but because of my medical history I was afraid I'd be refused a loan. My suspicions were right - until I talked to a wonderful manager at the third bank I tried. My business had been open for a little more than a year, I was showing a profit, and my latest checkup with Dr. Wilson had revealed that I was cancer-free. Seattle First, a small neighborhood bank, looked everything over and agreed to give me the loan. This was a red-letter day in my life as a business-woman. I was able to apply for and receive a loan! Definitely cause for celebration.

Margaret knew nothing about what I was doing. She made an effort to put on a brave front, the same way I did when it came to Brad. Matt still didn't have a job in his field. He'd worked as an electrical engineer for Boeing, but I wasn't really sure what he did. He'd recently found a job painting houses; I knew he hated it, but it brought in a paycheck, and with the little bit I paid Margaret they were managing to stay afloat. Except for their missed mortgage payments...

I signed the loan papers the first Monday in August. The summer was flying by, and I hadn't accomplished any of what I'd hoped. Earlier in the spring, Brad had promised to build me additional shelves for the yarn. We'd spent a few very satisfying Sunday afternoons working everything out on paper, measuring and designing the cubicles so they'd fit properly. I'd looked forward to helping him build them; so had Cody.

I needed new shelves, but that would have to wait, along with an idea I wanted to borrow from another store. In almost every yarn shop, space is a major consideration. There are so many new yarns and hand-dyed wools available that displaying them could be difficult. The particular store I'd visited in the north end of King County suspended hanks of brightly colored hand-dyed wool from the ceiling. It was clever and effective, and I'd hoped to do the same thing in a small section of A Good Yarn. Brad had said he'd place the screws in the ceiling for me.

I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own, but I hadn't done it. For some reason, I didn't seem able to move forward. Every improvement Brad and I had discussed, I'd put off. I just didn't have the heart for it.

Once I'd deposited the check in my account and had a cashier's check made out to Margaret, I drove to my sister's house. We'd talked briefly on Sunday and I'd casually asked her if she had any plans for today. Nothing much, she'd told me.

Margaret was outside watering her flower beds when I parked on the street. Absorbed in