Dropped Dead Stitch (5 page)

“Jennifer says it’s the power of fiber,” Kelly said with a grin. “I think she’s right. It happens all the time when we’re around the table at Lambspun. People start talking with each other, and strangers become friends. It’s really amazing to watch. Maybe because it’s so relaxing and peaceful. Kind of Zenlike when you’re all alone.”

Dr. Norcross surveyed the women for a long moment. “We may be on to something. Let’s see what happens when everyone settles and starts working on their projects. Maybe some of them will be relaxed enough they’ll feel safe to share. We’ll see.”

“Okay, pick a yarn and find a seat around the table. Kelly and Jennifer and I will be coming around to help you start. Tell us what you want to make, and we’ll get those needles and hooks distributed.”

The women snatched up their selections, exchanging yarns with each other, then finally settled in their chairs. “Here, Jen, take some of these and start at that end of the table, and I’ll start here. Lisa can work the middle,” Kelly instructed, handing Jennifer several needles and hooks.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Jennifer said with what looked like her old smile and teasing tone. That gladdened Kelly’s heart as she approached the eager fiber workers surrounding her.

 

 

“And
I swear, no matter how much I knitted on that sweater, I never saw any progress,” Jennifer said. “It was the sweater that wouldn’t die. It stayed the same, no matter how much I knitted.”

“That’s impossible,” Cassie said. “Your eyes were playing tricks on you. It had to get longer.”

“Well, it finally did,” Jennifer continued. “I got disgusted with it and shoved it into a bag at the back of my closet. When I took it out a year later, it had grown a foot in length.”

“Yeah, riiiight,” Edie said, knitting carefully on a washcloth. Several rows of soft lime green French chenille hung from her needles.

“That sounds like the knitter’s version of ‘fish stories,’ ” Nancy said.

“Ooooh, my yarn’s knotted or twisted or something,” Dawn complained, a loose eyelash scarf coming to life on her needles. She leaned next to Lisa, who was sitting beside her.

“Here, I’ll show you how to fix it,” Lisa said, examining the stitches.

Kelly worked the soft beige French chenille that she’d chosen. Those washcloths did look super easy. She decided to keep the light mood going. The entire group had been knitting and crocheting peacefully and quietly, with occasional calls for help. So far, the women had talked about their jobs and their families. That was all.

“I have to admit that story does sound fishy, Jennifer,” Kelly teased, listening to the soft laughter. “Were you checking that sweater late at night after you’d come home from the bar?”

Kelly noticed that college-aged Sue and Cassie quickly glanced up at her teasing comment. Kelly felt certain that Jennifer would pick up her lead and play along. Maybe they could relax this group even more.

“Nope, I was cold sober every time I checked on the knitting,” Jennifer responded as Kelly had hoped, voice returning to that familiar lighthearted tone that was Jennifer’s trademark. “Believe me, I never did any knitting when I’d come home from the bars.”

“Which ones do you go to? In town, I mean?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, I liked several in Old Town, especially the dance clubs. That was in my salsa phase.” Jennifer’s fingers worked the pink wool, and rows of stitches gathered swiftly on her needles as the afghan grew. It was almost finished now. “But one of my favorites was The Empire Room on the north side of town. It’s nice without being too snooty. So, I’d go over there several nights a week and meet guys.”

“I’ve been there,” Cassie added softly. “But I never went often. It always seemed that everyone . . . well, everyone knew everyone else. And I kind of felt . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, left out, I guess.”

Jennifer nodded her head. “Yeah, you’re right. It can be like that. I used to know a lot of people there, too. Then, they kind of all drifted away.”

“What happened?” Sue asked, yellow chenille yarn dangling. She was making a washcloth.

“Oh, most of them either got married, moved away, or got sober,” Jennifer said in the line Kelly had heard her use before. She’d always detected a hint of wistfulness in the observation.

Several of the women chuckled and added similar experiences.

“How’s your friend Diane doing? I haven’t heard you mention her for a while,” Kelly asked, deciding to keep this train of thought going in case Jennifer was heading somewhere.

“Diane’s doing well and working for a landscape firm,” Jennifer said, needles picking up speed. “She’s one of my old bar buddies, and we used to hit practically every bar in town. Unfortunately, Diane started drinking way too much, and that got her into major trouble. She did a lot of thinking afterwards and went sober last year with the help of AA. I’ve gotta give her credit. She’s really rebuilt her life.” Jennifer paused for a moment, then added softly, “Diane’s never been back to the bars. I’m proud of her. In fact, I’m going to try and follow her example.”

“You mean getting sober or staying away from the bars?” Edie asked, glancing up from her crochet hook. The lime green washcloth coming into shape.

“I’m trying to do both, actually,” Jennifer admitted. “I’ve stayed away from the bars for three months now, and I’ve changed my drinking habits, too.”

“What do you mean?” Sue asked.

“I used to be the Margarita Queen,” Jennifer said with a wry smile. “I always thought it helped my salsa style. But, I cut them out. I only drink a little wine now, that’s all.”

“Man, I don’t think I could give up my margaritas,” Jane said, more rows forming on her pink chenille washcloth.

“Do you think you were getting . . . you know, drinking too much like your friend Diane?”

Jennifer knitted quietly for a few seconds. “You know, I never used to think so. I was so sure I could handle the drinks. I mean, I’d never passed out or gotten falling down drunk like other people, so I thought I was doing okay.” She paused, then added, “But I’ve changed my mind. I think it dulls my instinct.”

Dawn eyed Jennifer carefully, as did the others. “What happened to change your mind?”

“A guy followed me home one night. He and I had been sitting and talking at the bar, and I had way more than usual,” Jennifer said softly, concentrating on the pink stitches. “He showed up at my door later and said I’d left something at the bar. Then he forced his way into my apartment.” She shook her head sadly. “I wish I’d never opened that door.”

Kelly noticed that everyone around the table had stopped working on their projects, yarns and needles dropped in their laps. They stared at Jennifer. Only Kelly, Lisa, and Jen kept working their fibers. Everyone else stared. Kelly glanced at Dr. Norcross, who was watching the women carefully.

“What happened?” Cassie asked, her huge brown eyes staring wide.

“He raped me,” Jennifer said, her voice dropping, still not looking up.

“
Son of a bitch!
” Jane spat, then launched into a string of curses that Kelly hadn’t heard since her father was alive.

“Don’t blame yourself, Jennifer. He probably would have broken down your door to get in,” Greta said in an angry voice.

“You pressed charges, didn’t you?” Dawn asked, peering at Jennifer.

Jennifer shook her head.

Dawn looked shocked. “But you have to! You can’t let him get away with it! Police found the guy that broke into my apartment, and I made sure he went to jail. He’s in Canon City right now.”

“Maybe Jennifer doesn’t want to go to court,” Sue suggested. “Not everyone can face things that way.”

“Don’t you want to make him pay for what he did to you?” Edie demanded.

Jennifer didn’t answer, just kept knitting quietly, while the various comments bubbled around her. Kelly kept her mouth shut, as did Lisa, watching everything, just like Dr. Norcross. Wondering what Jennifer would say.

“Yeah, I really would like to make him pay for what he did,” she finally responded. “But I’m afraid that would never happen. I’d been going to the bars for years, and I usually took some guy home at night. So, maybe he’d never be convicted. Maybe no one would believe me. Everybody at the bar could testify that they saw me drinking with him earlier that night. Face it, folks. We’ve all heard the stories about what happens when those cases go to trial. Even girls who’ve never been to a bar in their lives are splattered with mud.” She shook her head. “It would be really ugly.”

Kelly was amazed at the strength she heard in Jennifer’s voice and was proud of her friend’s honesty, even though it saddened her that Jennifer thought no one would believe her. Her friends did.

Meanwhile, Dawn and Jane expressed their anger and frustration at the injustice of the situation. Sue and Cassie, Edie and Nancy sat knitting or crocheting and adding occasional comments.

“I still think you should confront him,” Dawn declared. “Accuse him to his face. Hold him accountable. What do you think, Dr. Norcross?”

Dr. Norcross looked up from the afghan she was crocheting. “Everyone is different, Dawn. And each one of you is on your own path.” She paused. “Besides, Jennifer
has
confronted the situation this weekend, haven’t you, Jennifer?”

Jennifer glanced up, her face solemn. Everyone stared raptly, waiting for her to speak.

When she didn’t, Dr. Norcross spoke. “Would you like to tell them, Jennifer?”

“Okay,” Jennifer said, returning to her afghan, more rows appearing. “The guy who attacked me is the owner of this ranch, Cal Everett. I didn’t know his name until he introduced himself to us earlier.”

A collective gasp sounded all around the deck. Then the women exploded with angry accusations.

Jane let fly with another stream of curses and pushed back her chair. “That pig! I’m gonna go punch him out.”

“Settle down, Jane,” Dr. Norcross said, holding up her hand. “This is Jennifer’s situation, not yours. And she’s handling it. Jennifer and I took a walk before the session, and Everett happened to cross our path. Jennifer stood right there and stared him down. Meanwhile, I told him I didn’t want to see him anywhere near any of you this entire weekend. So, I don’t think Cal Everett will show his face except at night, and we’ll be around the campfire or in our cabins.”

“What’d the scumbag say?” Dawn asked, picking up her knitting needles again.

“He didn’t say a word,” Jennifer said. “But he looked scared and went white as a sheet, then ran inside his house. It felt good to watch that.”

“Good for you, Dr. Norcross!” Edie said with a small smile.

“I still think we should all go and confront him. Scare the snot out of the punk.”

Several comments greeted Jane’s inventive suggestion. Kelly decided this was as good a place as any to add a comment, even though it wasn’t her discussion.

“I know how you feel, Jane,” she said. “Some of Jennifer’s friends and I wanted to round up a posse and go get him, but one of our lawyer friends reminded us that wouldn’t be a good idea. We’d wind up getting charged with assault, not Everett.”

“I still think he deserves punishment,” Edie said, scowling.

“Punishment comes in many forms,” Dr. Norcross said. “I don’t advise letting thoughts of vengeance occupy your mind. Vengeance has a way of backfiring.”

That comment sparked another animated conversation which lasted several minutes. Then peaceful silence fell upon the group for a while until another soft voice spoke up.

“I know what Jennifer means . . . about the bars and all,” Sue said. “The same thing happened to me one night.”

Kelly watched the women drop the yarns to their laps once again as they listened intently to the next confession.

“Okay,
come at me from behind again,” Greta said from the front of the classroom.

Kelly stood beside Jennifer and watched Greta as she moved through the routine.

Jane had volunteered to be Greta’s helper, and her job was to “attack” Greta from the back and from the front. Jane was nearly a foot taller than Greta and packed a lot more muscle than the smaller teacher. Nonetheless, Kelly was fascinated to see Greta toss the unsuspecting Jane over her shoulder when Jane tried to grab Greta from behind.
Blam
. Jane was flat on the practice mat.

The result was the same when Jane tried to come straight at Greta—flying at her face. Greta moved her body to use the force of Jane’s attacking movement against her. Once again, Jane was on the floor.

“Boy, she’s good,” Jennifer observed.

“Yeah, she is. No wonder she teaches so many classes,” Kelly said.

Lisa joined them at the back of the classroom. “Greta certainly makes it look easy.”

“It doesn’t look easy to me,” Jennifer said, watching Greta’s movements.

“Have you ever tried any martial arts?” Kelly asked Lisa.

“Once, years ago, but I didn’t stick with it. If I ever want to learn again, I’ll definitely join one of Greta’s classes. She’s good.”

“Yeah, and tough for someone that small. She doesn’t look like she’s much over five feet tall.”

Kelly was intently watching Greta’s movements when the familiar jangle of her cell phone sounded. She quickly backed away from the others. “See you guys at lunch,” she said as she headed toward the classroom doorway and flipped open her phone. Her friend Jayleen’s voice greeted her as she stepped outside onto the lodge porch.

“Hey, Kelly, I hope I’m not interrupting you or anything, but I was wondering how Jennifer was doing and all. Megan told me that you and Lisa were taking her to some psychologist workshop up in Poudre Canyon.”

Kelly could hear the concern in the alpaca rancher’s voice. Jayleen was like an older sister to Kelly and her friends. She had been down many of life’s troublesome paths and had the wounds to show for it. So, she was always looking out for them.